Ring of Steel
by EJ3
Summary: Hochstetter circles the camp with his famous 'ring of steel' right when Hogan desperately needs to get to town. A compilation of 'Ring of Steel' and 'Bitter Comfort', with some new chapters added.
1. LeBeau

Ring of Steel

E.J. McFall

LeBeau stood in the shadows, watched the unfolding scene anxiously. Hogan had spent a good part of the day roaming the perimeter, making both the SS guards and his fellow prisoners nervous. Finally the warning shot that they'd all been dreading had been fired and their colonel was surrounded by guards, with Klink and Hochstetter quickly closing in. Without thinking, LeBeau was moving across the compound. 

"Arrest him!" Hochstetter shouted as he hurried from Klink's office. "He's looking for blind spots so he can escape." 

"Don't be ridiculous. There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13." Klink reached Hogan, gestured away the guards. "You're confined to your barracks, Hogan. I don't want to see you out here again." 

"Bah! Throw him in the cooler! You are too lenient, Klink." 

"I'm in charge of this camp, Major." Klink pulled Hogan away from the Gestapo agent. "You've picked a bad time to go wire-crazy, Hogan. You'll freeze if I put you in the cooler tonight." 

"Let me go into town to get medicine, Kommandant. I give you my word I won't try to escape." 

"You know what Berlin told me, Hogan. There is no medicine. Not for your men. Not for mine. I'm sorry." 

"Your men aren't dying, Kommandant. Let me go into town before I have to bury any more of mine." 

"Just where do you think you would go, Hogan?" Hochstetter intruded on the colonels. "To the black market or to your underground connections?" 

"Major…" Klink tried to block the man's advance, infuriating the short-tempered agent. 

LeBeau took advantage of the argument to slip through the guards to his colonel's side. "Mon Colonel, you are sick. You should be in bed."

"Go back to the barracks, LeBeau." Hogan tried to shoo the Frenchman away. "I can handle this." 

LeBeau shook his head adamantly. "We do not need a dead colonel." 

"What is this man doing here?!" Hochstetter turned from Klink to LeBeau. "I demand you throw them both in the cooler, Klink." 

"Herr Kommandant." LeBeau turned desperately to Klink. "Mon Colonel is sick. I will take him back to his room." 

"Sick?" Klink scanned his senior P.O.W. He did look paler than usual. " Alright. Take him back to the barracks and see that he stays there. It'll be the cooler if he's caught roaming near the wire again." 

"Oui, Kommandant." LeBeau tugged on Hogan's arm. "Please, Colonel." 

Hogan nodded in resignation, allowed LeBeau to lead him away. He waited until they were out of earshot of the Germans to gently brush away the corporal. "Alright, LeBeau. I'll behave." 

"I'm sorry, mon Colonel. I was afraid that Hochstetter…" 

"I know." Hogan looked back at the still-arguing Germans. "I think I owe you one." 

"Louie!" Newkirk ran to join the men, slapped LeBeau on the back. "You're a tiger, mon ami." 

"Boy! You sure are brave." Carter glanced between the Germans and their commanding officer, then shot LeBeau a grin. "I don't think I could have done that." 

"Thank God neither of you was hurt." Kinch leaned weakly against their barracks door. "You were lucky, Colonel." 

"And you should be inside." Hogan hurried to Kinch's side, took one of the sergeant's arms. "Didn't I give orders that you were to stay in bed?" 

"Sorry, sir." A ghost of a smile crossed Kinch's face. "It's hard to sleep with all that shooting and shouting going on." 

"Very funny. Come on." Hogan helped Kinch inside and to his bed. "I don't care if Patton comes through that gate, I don't want you out of bed again."

"Yes, sir." Kinch's body shook as he was overcome with a bout of violent coughing. 

"Kinch…" Hogan knelt beside the bed, tried vainly to ease the black man's pain. "I'll get hold of some antibiotics. Don't worry." 

Kinch shook his head, spoke between coughs. "No way, sir. Can't use the radio, can't leave camp. Too dangerous." 

"I'll find a way." Hogan stood, gestured to Carter. "Get him something warm to drink." 

"Right away." Carter hurried to obey, nearly tripping over a chair in his haste. 

"Put some whiskey in it." Hogan amended his order, turned his attention to Newkirk, LeBeau and the others who were standing helplessly beside the bed. "Alright, you guys, clear this area. No point in everyone getting sick." 

"All due respect, sir." Newkirk gestured at the others. "We don't see as it makes much difference where we are. The bloody germs are all over camp." 

" I know, but we can still try to contain it. We've got a dozen dead already. That's enough." Hogan sank onto a chair, absently acknowledged the cup of coffee Carter slipped into his hands. "Go on, fellows. This area is off limits." 

LeBeau leaned against a bunk, silently watched Kinch try to persuade the Colonel to distance himself also. Hogan merely smiled and claimed that officers didn't get sick. LeBeau shot a glance at Newkirk and saw the same worried expression on his English friend's face. For the first time they were in a situation that not even Papa Bear could control. Pneumonia had been brought into the camp with a group of half-starved Russian prisoners, many of whom had subsequently died. Normally it would only require a radio message to London to acquire the penicillin they needed, but Hochstetter had chosen this time to move into camp. His SS guards and his radio detection truck had turned their camp into a prison and had put all of them on edge. And now with Kinch sick, Hogan was growing restless and taking chances with the Gestapo that none of them could afford. 

"Mon Colonel, you should rest." LeBeau crossed to his commander's side. "I'll stay with Kinch." 

Hogan shook his head. 

"Louie's right, governor." Newkirk absently shuffled a deck of cards. "You haven't gotten any decent sleep since the Russians arrived." 

"He's right, sir." Carter chimed in. "You should take a nap. We'll mind the store." 

"Oui. There are no missions with Hochstetter here and it's too cold to go outside. Even the Papa Bear must hibernate sometime." 

"Fellows..." Hogan sighed, glanced from man to man. "You'll stay in bed, Kinch?" 

"You got it, sir. I won't move a muscle." 

"Ok." Hogan rose reluctantly. "Wake me if there's any change in any of the sick or if Hochstetter leaves Klink's office." 

The men nodded as Hogan slowly disappeared into his room, then exchanged puzzled looks among themselves. Never, in all the years they'd worked with him, had they seen Hogan give up so easily. LeBeau felt a chill that had nothing to do with the winter winds outside.

** * * 

LeBeau steadied the bowl of steaming soup, patiently waited for Kinch to stop coughing. "Come on, Kinch. You know the Colonel is going to blame me if you don't eat." 

Kinch pushed the bowl away. "Sorry, Louie. I won't tell him, if you don't." 

LeBeau sighed, set the bowl on the table. "Tell me what you're hungry for and I'll make it. Anything –even a revolting banana split." 

Kinch forced a smile. "Maybe later. Right now I think I'll just get some rest. After all, it's not often I can sleep without worrying about the radio. I think I'll take advantage of the time off." 

"Ok. Maybe that's best." LeBeau glanced over his shoulder at Newkirk, who was cheating at solitaire. "I should take some soup to the Russians." 

Newkirk nodded, aware of LeBeau's unspoken question. "I'll keep an eye on things." 

"Knock it off, you two." Kinch struggled to sound in charge. "I don't need a babysitter." 

" You know, it's always the strong, silent ones who make the worst patients." Newkirk nudged Carter. "Get him a right pretty bird to tuck him in and I wager he'd sing a different tune." 

"Boy, would he." Carter laughed. "Once we get the radio back, we should ask London to send us some Red Cross girls." 

"Only if they're French." LeBeau slapped Carter's arm playfully. "Come on, Carter. Help me take food to the sick men." 

"Ok." Carter stood obligingly as LeBeau handed him a large pot of soup and several loaves of bread. 

"Don't stay too long." Kinch turned away as he coughed. "And don't touch anyone if you don't have to." 

"Listen to him." LeBeau rolled his eyes dramatically. "He carries half-dead prisoners from the truck to their barracks, and then he tells me not to touch anyone." 

"He's balmy, that's what he is." Newkirk smiled innocently. "Course, he is American. Guess that explains a lot." 

"Hey!" Carter tried to protest, but LeBeau pushed him towards the door. 

LeBeau's light-hearted façade slipped away once he left the barracks. He trudged through the snow, too worried to notice the cold. Kinch was never sick, Hogan was never out of control. For the first time since they'd begun their clandestine operation, LeBeau felt truly afraid. Not of Hochstetter and his mindless drones, but of the return of the endless tedium and hopelessness that had haunted the camp before Hogan's arrival. He couldn't go back to being a faceless number in a Bosch prison. He wouldn't. 

"Something wrong, Louie?" Carter looked at his friend with concern. "You don't have to worry about Kinch. Colonel Hogan will find him some medicine." 

"Oui. I was just thinking about the first time I saw mon Colonel." LeBeau thought back to the loss of their British commander and the arrival of his replacement. "The Gestapo had him gagged and in chains. I remember thinking he didn't look dangerous enough to go to all that trouble. Just goes to show you how wrong first impressions can be." 

Carter nodded eagerly. "I remember the first time I met him – it was in Klink's office right after I arrived. Boy, was I scared! But then the Colonel winked at me right during the Kommandant's big 'toughest camp in all of Germany' speech and I knew I was going to be ok. I know that doesn't make any sense but…" 

"I understand." LeBeau smiled to himself. Hogan made a point of attending most of Klink's interrogations, especially when young prisoners arrived. The newcomers generally left the office looking relieved, oblivious of the fact that Klink had never been a threat and that Hogan had never had to protect them. Their commander was always quick to relinquish his new charges into the care of Newkirk, Carter or himself, depending on their nationality. The slightest hint of burgeoning hero-worship on the part of the new prisoner was enough to make Hogan disappear into his office indefinitely. LeBeau chuckled as he glanced at Carter. With one notable exception. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that it must be hard for Colonel Hogan to be the only officer in an enlisted man's camp." 

"What's so funny about that?" 

LeBeau used his favorite evasive tactic – he mumbled in French. They arrived at the Russian barracks before Carter could think of an appropriate response. "Ok, Carter. You wait out here. I won't be long." 

"Hey, that's not fair. Why can't I go in too?" 

"Because I said so." LeBeau retrieved the soup and bread from the younger man. 

"But…." Carter tried his best to scowl. "I outrank you, you know." 

"If you don't behave, you won't get any more strudel." LeBeau left the sergeant frowning in the snow and ventured into the quarantined barracks. His false bravado disappeared as he turned his attention to the group of sick men. 

"Where is comrade Colonel today?" Sasha, the group's English interpreter sat up on his bed. "He is sick?" 

"No, just getting some rest." LeBeau began dishing the soup out and distributing it to those too weak to get out of bed. He refused to think of Kinch, of his friend growing as ill and as gaunt as these pathetic men. The Russians had been surviving on half rations for weeks before arriving at the camp. Kinch was strong and healthy before contracting the disease. There was no comparison to be made. "How are you and your men feeling?" 

"Those who aren't dead are still alive." Sasha paused, momentarily hopeful. "There is medicine?" 

"I'm sorry. Colonel Hogan has tried, but the Krauts don't have enough penicillin for their own men, much less for us." 

"So. It is as we thought." Sasha lowered his voice. "There are those who think the American colonel is a….what do you call one who works with the enemy?" 

"A collaborator?" LeBeau shook his head vigorously. "You're wrong. He hates the Nazis." 

" I do not think this myself, but still…" Sasha scanned the room. "There are those who say he is too friendly with the Kommandant." 

"They're wrong. Anything the Colonel does is for the good of the camp." 

"Of course." Sasha set aside his bowl. "Thank you for the meal. It has been a long time since we've had such good food." 

LeBeau muttered a response, eager to get away from the man's accusations before he lost his temper. He found Carter where he'd left him, patiently pacing in the snow. "Come on. I want to talk to Newkirk." 

"What about?" 

"I think we might have some security problems." 

"Oh." Carter dogged behind the older man. "Want me to blow something up?" 

LeBeau glanced behind them at the Russian barracks. "Not yet, but I'll keep you in mind. " 

* * * * 

LeBeau stormed into the barracks, Carter on his heels. 

Newkirk took one look at LeBeau and dropped his cards. "What is it? Hochstetter?" 

LeBeau responded in angry French. 

Newkirk turned to Carter. "What's going on?" 

"The Russians said Colonel Hogan is a traitor." Carter slapped his fist into his palm. "Boy, if we weren't under orders not to start fights…" 

"Traitor?" Kinch sat up, wrapped his blanket around him. "Just because he can't get medicine that doesn't exist?" 

"They say he collaborates with the filthy Bosch." LeBeau spit out the words. 

"The governor?" Newkirk shook his head. "Might as well accuse Old Winnie of going Nazi." 

"I don't trust them." LeBeau paced around the table. " I don't care how sick they are." 

"Right, well we'll just sort them out before they have a chance to cause a fuss." Newkirk gestured to several of the other prisoners. "Come on, you lot. You just volunteered for sentry duty." 

LeBeau swore to himself as Newkirk led his detail outdoors. 

"Don't take it so hard, Louie." Kinch stifled a cough. "It's not the first time this has happened. They'll settle down once they realize what really goes on here." 

"Who'll settle down?" 

The men turned in unison as Hogan slipped from his office. 

"Uh…nothing important, sir." Kinch did his best to sound nonchalant. "Just some tension in one of the barracks. Newkirk's on it." 

"I see." Hogan headed for the coffee pot. "I trust you'll let me know if I'm needed." 

"Oh, sure, sir. You'll be the first to know. Well, actually, we'd probably be the first to know, but then when we told you, then you'd be the next to know and…." 

"Carter." LeBeau signaled for the young sergeant to stop rambling. "Are you feeling better, mon Colonel?" 

"Yes, I am." Hogan grinned as he set his cup on the table. "I must have been really tired because the answer is obvious." 

"It is?" Carter glanced at the other men, who shrugged in reply. 

"Couldn't be simpler. If Mohammed can't go to the mountain, the mountain will just have to come to Mohammed." 

"Huh?" 

"Never mind, Carter." Hogan poked his head outside the door, ignoring his men's protests. "Hey, Langenscheidt!

"Nein, nein!" The young German corporal waved his rifle excitedly. "You are confined to barracks, Colonel. Kommandant Klink's orders." 

" Relax. I don't want to go anywhere. I want you to bring Sgt Schultz here." 

Langenscheidt shook his head. "Sgt Schultz ordered me to keep you inside. He said to shoot you in the leg if you tried to leave your barracks." 

"Corporal, I give you my word I'll be here when you get back." Hogan smiled disarmingly, pointed to the guard towers. "Those nice men up there will be happy to shoot me in the head if I don't behave myself. Now go get Schultz. Rasch!" 

"Jawohl!" Langenscheidt started to salute, then realized his mistake. Chagrined, he hurried off across the compound. 

"Kids today." Hogan whistled the Army Air Corps song as he retrieved his coffee cup and refilled it. 

"Must be some plan." Carter nudged LeBeau. 

"Oui." LeBeau felt some of his uneasiness disappear. The Colonel seemed to have recovered his spirits. Perhaps there was still reason to hope. 

"What's the idea, Colonel?" Kinch swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

"Where do you think you're going, Sgt?" 

"I just thought you might need some help…" Kinch sighed in resignation and settled back into bed. 

"That's better." Hogan consulted his watch. "Any moment now…" 

"Colonel Hogan!" The door swung open and Schultz stomped in. "You cannot be giving the guards orders. You are a prisoner." 

"I am? Schultz, why didn't you tell me sooner?" Hogan brushed away the German's rebuttal. "Ok, I'll behave. I just wanted to ask you a favor." 

"No." Schultz shook his head adamantly. "You cannot leave camp. You cannot leave the barracks. You cannot…" 

"I don't want to go anywhere." Hogan put his hand on the guard's shoulder. "I just want you to run a tiny little errand for me." 

"No, no, no, no!" Schultz backed away from the American.

"Oh, come on, Schultz. Our Red Cross packages just came in. We've got lots of chocolate." Hogan upped the ante as Schultz continued to back away. "Cigarettes? Money? You name it – I'll get if for you." 

"No. You cannot leave camp and I cannot leave camp. No one can leave here by orders of Major…" 

"Hochstetter." Hogan swore. "I hate that bastard more every day." 

"Colonel Hogan…" Schultz glanced around the room nervously. "The Gestapo hears everything. They know everything." 

"Yeah, yeah. Alright. I'll just have to talk to Klink." Hogan started for the door but Schultz blocked his way. "Come on, Schultz. I'm not in the mood…" 

"Then you get in the mood because you are not leaving this building." Schultz' voice took on an unaccustomed edge. 

Hogan tried to duck around the guard but the German suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his bomber jacket and tugged him away from the door. "Hey!" 

" I'm sorry, Colonel Hogan, but you're upset about your sick men. You are not being yourself." Schultz lowered his voice. "Major Hochstetter is trying to trap you. If you try any monkey business now he'll have you shot." 

"I just want some lousy medicine." Hogan sighed, defeated. "Ok, Schultz. You've made your point. I'll think of something else." 

"Good." Schultz cautiously released his grip and quickly reverted to his old self. "Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to…" 

"I'm fine. Thanks." Hogan straightened his jacket. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me." 

"Right, sir." LeBeau frowned at Schultz as Hogan's door slammed. 

"I'm sorry, but he cannot leave this building. Those are my orders." Schultz mumbled to himself as he quickly escaped from the barracks. 

"Jeez…" Carter jumped as the sound of a crash came from the Colonel's room. He started for the office but LeBeau caught his arm. 

"Leave him alone." 

"But…" Carter turned to Kinch for support but found none. 

LeBeau signaled for Carter to help him with the lunch dishes. Quietly the two cleaned up while Kinch pretended to sleep. 

* * * *

The barracks was just beginning to wake when the door blew open and Klink hurried through the common area to Hogan's room. LeBeau was instantly awake and out of bed. Newkirk and Carter were on their feet too and from his isolated corner bed Kinch was keenly watching. A moment later Hogan and Klink were on their way outside without a word. 

"What's going on?" Carter followed the others to the door, only to bump into Schultz on his way in. 

Schultz herded the men from the door. "It's too cold outside. We're having roll call in here today." 

"Since when have you worried about the temperature?" Newkirk yanked on his jacket over his nightshirt. "What don't you want us to see?" 

"There is nothing to see." Schultz made a half-hearted attempt to keep the men from the windows. "By order of Major Hochstetter…" 

"Something's going on at the Russian barracks." Newkirk peered into the half-light of dawn. "Blimey, Hochstetter's goons are dragging something across the compound. I think it's a body." 

"What?" LeBeau pushed Newkirk aside. "Mon Dieu! It is a body. Two of them." 

"Stand back." Kinch ordered the others away, stood shakily at the window. He watched in silence, ignoring the babble around him. Finally he turned back to the group. "They're cremating the bodies." 

"What?" Newkirk closed on Schultz. "Those men are entitled to a decent burial." 

"The ground's too hard to dig graves…" Schultz mumbled apologetically. 

"We would have dug them." LeBeau glowered out the window. "Klink knows that." 

"I don't get it." Carter tried to peer over LeBeau's shoulder, but Newkirk tugged him back. "Klink always let us have a service before. It's not right to just burn them like garbage." 

Schultz stared at his feet. "It is not the Kommandant. Major Hochstetter says it's regulations. To stop the sickness from spreading." 

"A bloody lot he cares." Newkirk balled his fists. "I'd like to get that animal alone for five minutes…." 

"Newkirk!" Kinch's command voice was marred by a fit of coughing. "It's alright. We don't have to be out there to have a service. God can hear us just fine from here." 

"Right." Carter yanked off his cap and looked instinctively to Kinch. 

The others did the same, forming a semi-circle around the black sergeant. Schultz moved discreetly into the background as Kinch recited the 23rd Psalm and gave a brief eulogy for the unknown airmen. Then –as quickly as they'd assembled – the men drifted silently apart. 

"Wait a minute…" Schultz cleared his throat loudly. "We have to do roll call." 

"Oh, leave off." Newkirk switched his nightshirt for his uniform. 

"No. We have to have a count." Schultz looked hopefully at Kinch. 

Kinch sighed. "Come on, guys. Let him do his job so he can get out of here." 

The men grudgingly complied and Schultz hurriedly accounted for everyone in the barracks. The German headed for the exit, but paused at the door with a sharp exclamation. 

"What is it?" LeBeau wiggled around Schultz and looked out the door. He quickly understood what had caused the guard to swear. Hogan and Hochstetter were in a shouting match by Klink's office. To his surprise LeBeau realized that Klink was doing his best to hold back the angry American, who seemed intent on disassembling the Gestapo agent. But Klink could only succeed at that game for so long…. "Colonel Hogan! It's an emergency! Colonel!" 

"Blimey!" Newkirk shoved past Schultz into the compound. "Colonel! We need you! There's a bloody emergency!" 

"Mon Colonel! Kinch is very sick!" 

Carter stared at his shouting friends for a moment, finally had an epiphany. "Colonel Hogan! We need you quick! Kinch is really, really sick! Honest! He is!" 

Schultz hurried across the camp, but Hogan had already backed off by the time he got there. 

"What's the emergency?" Hogan ignored Hochstetter's ranting to address Schultz. "What's this about Kinch?" 

Schultz shook his head. "Come with me." 

"Put him in the cooler until he calms down." Klink was still solidly positioned between Hogan and Hochstetter. " You know how Americans are, Major – no control over their emotions. How they think they're going to win a war without discipline is beyond me." 

LeBeau and the others watched helplessly from their barracks as Schultz led Hogan to the cooler. The group malaise was broken by a bout of coughing. 

"Come on, Kinch." LeBeau guided his friend across the room. "You should be in bed." 

"I'm ok." Kinch doubled over to catch his breath. "Just give me a moment." 

"Colonel's orders." LeBeau helped Kinch to his temporary bed, the one closest to the stove. He tucked the man in as Carter appeared with a jug of water and an extra blanket.

"Thanks." Kinch leaned against the wall, tried not to cough on his friends. Hogan had emptied the adjoining bunks and ordered everyone to keep their distance, but that didn't seem to instill any caution in the others. Of course, his straying from his bed didn't help matters any, he realized. "Ok, guys, back off. You know you're not supposed to be around me." 

"It's not like the governor's here to complain." 

Kinch sent Newkirk a searing look. Newkirk retired to the center table with his deck of cards. Carter followed him, uncertain what else to do. 

"You need some breakfast." LeBeau turned to the stove. 

"I'm not that hungry." 

LeBeau shook his head as he busied himself making soup. "In France it is an insult to turn down a meal cooked by a master chef." 

"Sorry. Don't want to start an international incident." Kinch rested his head on his arms. "Wake me when it's ready." 

"Oui." LeBeau exchanged worried glances with Newkirk. Kinch wasn't getting any better, Hogan seemed destined to clash with Hochstetter and Carter….LeBeau paused. Did Carter look pale or was he just upset? He didn't really want to know, but… "Carter, do you feel alright, mon ami?" 

Carter shrugged. "I'm ok. My stomach's just a little upset." 

"Oh, bloody marvelous." Newkirk laid the back of his hand on Carter's forehead. "You'd better get to bed, Andrew." 

Carter shook his head. "I don't have what Kinch has. I'll be ok. Honest." 

Newkirk looked to LeBeau, caught his answering shrug. "Alright, but you keep yourself warm." 

"I will. Don't worry." Carter gestured towards Newkirk's cards. "Gin?" 

"Gin?" Newkirk sighed dramatically as he dealt. "Listen to him – whole camp going to hell in a hand-basket and he wants to play gin." 

"Americans." LeBeau concentrated on his soup. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do. 

* * * * 

The snow crunched underfoot as LeBeau carried Hogan's favorite meal to the cooler. Fried spam, powdered scrambled eggs and hash brown potatoes. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of his commander actually enjoying such slop, but he supposed that every hero had his faults. 

"Halt!" Schultz met him at the door to the cooler. "I must inspect the food to make sure you haven't hidden anything in it." 

"I know, I know." LeBeau squeezed past the guard into the building and unveiled the meal. "Don't take too long – it's already getting cold." 

Schultz' eyes lit up as he noticed the contents of the tray. "You brought two dishes?" 

"Oui, oui. You always eat half of the Colonel's meal anyway." 

"Hmmm." Schultz dug into the food. "Next time you should bring some of those delicious dumplings you make." 

"I cook for mon Colonel – not for you." LeBeau gestured to the cells. "Do you mind?" 

Schultz nodded and spoke through a mouthful of food. "He's been pacing all morning. It will be good for him to have company." 

"Pacing?" LeBeau followed the guard down the row of cells. Hogan had been tossed into the cooler many times over the years as punishment for 'escaping' or for momentarily losing his temper with Klink. When LeBeau brought him his meals he always found the same thing --- Hogan stretched out on his cot sleeping or daydreaming. Today, however, his commander had all the appearance of a caged tiger. LeBeau smiled as he noticed that Schultz was keeping his distance. He couldn't blame the German --this was not the laid-back, slightly fey man who organized basket-weaving contests and threw parties for his captors. This was an Allied Colonel and he was dangerous. 

"LeBeau." Hogan was past pleasantries. "What's the status of the sick men?" 

"No change, sir." LeBeau set his tray on Hogan's bed. "I brought your favorite dish." 

"Thanks." Hogan smiled briefly. "How's Kinch?" 

"No change." LeBeau toyed with his scarf, avoided Hogan's eyes. 

"Something else?" Hogan towered over the smaller man. "LeBeau?" 

"Carter…" 

"What about him?" 

"I'm sure it's nothing. Just a stomach ache." LeBeau forced a laugh. "You know Andre. He probably ate everything from his Red Cross package again. Newkirk's keeping an eye on him." 

Hogan clenched his fists and closed his eyes. After a moment he exhaled loudly and slowly opened his eyes. "Ok. You and Newkirk do your best to keep things running till I'm back. That's all anyone can ask." 

"Oui." LeBeau's tone softened. "It's all anyone can ask of you too, mon Colonel. There's nothing you can do while the Bosch animal is here." 

"One bastard between me and …" Hogan broke off as he remembered Schultz' presence. "Pneumonia is no way for a soldier to die. Go down with your plane, die sabotaging a bridge –those are noble deaths. I can't just stand by while Kinch – while any of my men – dies by inches. There must be a way to get some damn penicillin." 

"Colonel, you can't…" LeBeau turned as the door at the end of the corridor clanked open. The three men breathed a collective sigh of relief to discover the intruder was Klink, not Hochstetter.

"Schultz!" Klink entered in full bellow. "What is going on here?" 

"Nothing, Heir Kommandant." Schultz quickly slid his dish to LeBeau. "I was merely supervising the prisoner's meal with my usual vigilance." 

"And that requires you to feed your fat face?" 

"Oh, yes sir!" Schultz drew to attention. "The little Frenchman might have been trying to poison the prisoner. It is my duty…." 

"Dummkopf! LeBeau cooks for Hogan every day. If he'd wanted to murder him, he'd be dead by now." Klink jerked his head towards the exit. "Both of you – out of here." 

LeBeau bid his commander a hasty farewell and quickly left the area. He ducked into an empty cell and laughed to himself as Klink continued to berate Schultz. 

"Schultz! Lock the cell door before you leave!"

The unhappy guard nearly puffed past him, but did a quick double-take when he noticed the cook loitering in the cell. 

LeBeau put his finger to his lips and gestured for the guard to join him. 

"LeBeau!" Schultz tried to chastise the Frenchman. 

LeBeau merely shook his head and whispered for silence. 

"Go ahead and eat, Colonel." Klink's tone was formal. "I trust you've had a chance to reconsider your earlier behavior." 

"I'm sorry I didn't kill the S.O.B., if that's what you mean." 

"Hogan!" Klink sighed and softened his tone. "Are you so anxious to die?"

"No, but I'm tired of living like this." 

"I know. I can have you transferred to an officer's camp once Hochstetter leaves. I know the Kommandant at Stalag 3. He follows the Geneva Convention." 

LeBeau caught his breath as the moments ticked by without a reply from Hogan. He knew their commander was tired and frustrated, but would he really accept a transfer? 

"Thanks, but no. I can't leave my boys." Hogan grumbled incoherently. "You know what I did before the war, Kommandant? I was a test pilot and a flight instructor. My biggest worry was keeping my girlfriends from meeting. Now I've got kids from Bullfrog, ND thinking I can walk on water." Hogan laughed bitterly. "Where the hell is Bullfrog and why would anyone want to live there?" 

"I know. I'm responsible for boys too." Klink's voice dropped. "I have to send them to the Russian Front to die in the snow." 

"And I have to watch mine die here." Hogan paused. "Kommandant, I know you're not part of old Scramblebrain's Master Race. I'm begging you –officer to officer - let me go into town to find some medicine before it's too late." 

LeBeau turned away, a lump in his throat. He had no wish to hear his Colonel beg. 

"If it was between us, but now…. You would only disappear." 

"I give you my word…"

"You misunderstand me. If I let you leave camp now you would not escape. You would disappear into the night and the fog. No one would hear from you again – not me, not your men, not your family, not your government. No one." Klink's voice caught. "That is the power of the Gestapo." 

Hogan swore and Klink mumbled something apologetic. LeBeau sensed the meeting coming to an end and signaled for Schultz to quietly head for the exit. 

"…offer from Major Hochstetter. …" 

LeBeau froze by the exit, strained to catch Klink's quiet words. 

"He said to tell you he'll trade penicillin for information. I hope you have enough sense to ignore him." 

"Trade?" 

LeBeau held his breath, prayed that Hogan would refuse. 

"Tell him I'll be glad to talk to him." 

"Colonel!' Klink was shocked. "He's setting a trap. Surely you know that." 

"Of course, but you know the old joke – Why did the compulsive gambler keep playing at the crooked card game?" 

"What? Card game?" 

Hogan laughed. "It was the only game in town, Kommandant. The only game in town. " 

* * * *

"Are you sure this is going to help?" Kinch wheezed as LeBeau wrapped gauze around his chest. "It smells like a deli I used to go to in Detroit." 

LeBeau scoffed loudly. "Shows what you know. My grandmother's mustard plaster is the best in the world." 

"No offense to your grandmother. I just think you're wasting your time." Kinch doubled over as coughs racked his body. "Oh. If you're really my friend you'd just hit me over the head with a rock." 

"Hold on, mon ami. Give the Colonel a little more time." LeBeau refused to concentrate on what their commander needed time to do. Instead, he turned his attention to Carter. "Alright, Andre, your turn." 

"I'm alright. I'm not coughing." 

"No." Newkirk scowled from his post at the door. "He just retches out his guts every half hour." 

"I'm sorry…" 

"Shh." LeBeau brought Carter a mug of tea. "You know he talks like that when he's worried. " 

"What's this?" Carter sniffed the drink experimentally. "It smells good." 

"It's chamomile and mint. It'll settle your stomach." LeBeau glanced over at Newkirk. "See anything?" 

"For the fifth time, no." Newkirk kicked the door shut. "It would help if you'd tell me what I'm bloody watching for." 

"The Colonel." 

"I know that!" Newkirk yanked the door open an inch, resumed his watch. "The governor's been dragged into the cooler a hundred times. Why are you so all-fired upset now?" 

"I'm not." LeBeau switched his attention to Carter. "How's your stomach? The tea helped, yes?" 

Carter shook his head, put his hand to his mouth. "I don't think so." 

"Oh, hell!" Newkirk grabbed a bucket and crossed to Carter. "Come on, mate. Not on the floor." Newkirk glared at LeBeau. "Wonderful. You've poisoned him. Are all your cures this good?" 

"At least I'm trying to help!" LeBeau shouted at the Englishman. "All you've been doing is playing with your stupid cards!" 

"Are you crazy!? Who do you think's been cleaning up after Carter all day?" 

"Ok, you two. Stop…" Kinch's rebuke was drowned out by coughing.

"Hi, kids. I'm home." Hogan stood inside the door, cheerfully watching the coughing, vomiting and arguing. "Miss me?" 

"Mon Colonel!" LeBeau colored. "We were…." 

"Uh, right." Newkirk stammered. "We were…" 

"Yeah, um…" Kinch cut off a cough. "The guys were…" 

"Hi, Colonel." Carter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Talked Klink into letting you go, huh?" 

"Better then that." Hogan reached into his jacket. "Look what your favorite C.O. has for you guys." 

LeBeau didn't look. He knew what Hogan had and what price he'd paid for it.

"Blimey! It's penicillin! How'd you manage that?" 

"Simple. I'm a genius." Hogan grew serious. "Ok, fellows, we've got lots to do. Newkirk—Hochstetter's left camp, but I want to know the instant he's back. "

"Right." Newkirk headed for the door. "Are we expecting trouble, sir?" 

"You never know." Hogan dismissed the man, focused on LeBeau. "I'm going to need your help at the Russian barracks." 

"Yes, sir." LeBeau couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. 

"Ok." Hogan clapped his hands. "Carter, you keep it in the bucket. Kinch, you keep it in bed. Once we take care of the Russians, we'll be back for you two." 

LeBeau trudged across the compound after Hogan. His relief for his friends was tempered by his knowledge of his Colonel's betrayal. The word 'collaborator' screamed in his head. 

"You ok, LeBeau?" Hogan studied him with concern. "You going to need a shot yourself?" 

"No, sir. I'm just tired." 

"Ok." Hogan didn't seem convinced. "Everything'll be back to normal soon. Then you can catch a few hours of shut-eye." 

"Oui. It would be good to have things like they were before Hochstetter came." 

"Uh-huh." Hogan looked as though he would pursue the subject but they arrived at the Russian barracks. 

"Comrade Colonel!" Sasha saluted weakly. "We thought you'd defected." 

"Not today." Hogan knelt beside the Russian's bunk, held out a vial of liquid.

"Medicine?" Sasha tried to sit up. "But we were told you couldn't get any." 

"Frankly, I don't know what this is." Hogan shook the bottle. "This is courtesy of the Krauts. It might be penicillin, it might be poison. I'm afraid there's only one way to find out." 

"I understand." Sasha surveyed the roomful of sick men. "For myself, a quick death is preferable to a lingering one." 

Hogan nodded slowly. "Explain the situation to your men. Be sure they understand that this could be fatal." 

"Da." Sasha raised his voice, addressed the room in Russian. After a moment he reverted to English. "They wish to try." 

"Which ones?" 

"All of them." Sasha laughed dryly. "Even those who believe that you are Klink's … uh… I do not know the word in English." 

"That's all right, Sgt, I've heard them all. In several languages." 

Sasha shrugged. "I merely interpret for the others. Comrade Colonel knows that I am loyal to him."

"Of course. Never doubted it for a moment." Hogan grinned as he prepared a syringe. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt. Probably a lot." 

LeBeau forced himself to be cheerful as he circulated through the room administering shots. His eyes kept straying to Hogan, who was trying to joke in Russian with the patients. He gathered from the men's reactions that the Colonel's grasp of the language was poor, at best. Still they seemed to appreciate the attempt, just as he had always appreciated Hogan's atrocious, broken French. It had meant so much to him that a Colonel would try to communicate with a corporal. But now… LeBeau shook his head. Whatever Hogan had done, he'd done for the good of the camp. 

"You ok?" 

LeBeau was startled to find Hogan standing over him, checking his forehead for fever. "I…I'm alright. Just thinking…" 

"Must have been some thought." Hogan yawned and scanned the room. "No one's dropped dead yet. I guess we can assume it wasn't poison." 

"Oui." At least the filthy Bosch swine kept their side of the deal. 

"Let's go take care of Kinch and Carter." Hogan draped his arm around LeBeau's shoulder. "Any sick in the other barracks?" 

LeBeau feigned having a rock in his shoe so he could duck away from Hogan. "There are a few, but I can take care of them." 

"Ok." Hogan was studying him again. "You sure you're ok? You're not my cheerful LeBeau." 

"I'm your exhausted LeBeau." LeBeau shrugged. "Kinch and Carter are rotten patients and Newkirk is a useless Englishman." 

Hogan smiled, though LeBeau knew he was suspicious. "One war at a time. Let's take care of the Krauts first, then you and Newkirk can re-enact Waterloo." 

LeBeau nodded and mumbled brief answers to the rest of Hogan's comments on the way back to their barracks. As soon as they arrived he headed for the stove on the pretense of making dinner. 

"Ok, Kinch." Hogan joined his radioman on his bunk. "What do you want to do – roll up your sleeve or drop your pants?" 

"My arm's fine, sir." 

Hogan winked at Carter, who was watching nervously. "Brave to the end." 

Kinch winced as Hogan gave him the shot. 

"Sorry, Kinch. I'm a pilot, not a nurse." 

"Yeah, I can tell." Kinch rubbed his arm, shot Hogan a grateful look. "I don't know how you managed it, but I'm thankful to both you and God that you were able to pull it off." 

"My pleasure." Hogan patted Kinch's good arm. "The radio truck's still here, so there's nothing for you to do but rest. That's an order." 

"Right, sir." Kinch settled into a comfortable position. 

"Ok, Carter." Hogan wiped the syringe with alcohol. "What'll it be?" 

"Jeez, sir, I don't think I need a shot. I mean –heck, all I've got is a case of the flu." 

"If I were you, Carter, I'd drop your pants." Kinch smiled innocently as he rubbed his arm. 

"Well, gosh, I just don't know. I mean I hear it hurts less, but jeez it would just feel weird. I mean…" 

Hogan sighed and rolled his eyes. He unzipped Carter's flight suit and quickly injected him while the sergeant continued to ramble. "Carter. I'm done. Go to bed." 

"Huh?" Carter blushed as he realized that Hogan had already given him the shot. "Oh. Thanks, Colonel. I mean, I was kinda scared there for a while, but I knew that you'd take care of everything. I mean you're always there, boy, and…" 

"Carter." Hogan gave the younger man a gentle shove. "Your bed is over there." 

"Oh, right, sir." Carter grinned sheepishly as he crawled under his blanket.

"LeBeau, can you take care of the other barracks?" Hogan rubbed his eyes. "I could use some sleep." 

"Yes, sir." LeBeau collected the medical supplies and started for the door, glad for the opportunity to be alone to think. Not that he had anything particularly pleasant to think about. 

* * * * 

"Colonel!" Newkirk bolted through the door. "Hochstetter's back. He's heading this way!" 

Hogan glanced at his watch. "Hmmm. Sooner than I thought." 

"Sir?" Kinch pulled himself to his feet, instantly alert. 

"Newkirk, did you hide the extra medicine?" Hogan was at the window, his gaze fixed on the compound.

"Yes, sir." Newkirk joined Hogan. "Trouble?" 

"Not if everyone stays calm." Hogan turned to his anxious men. "No one does anything, no one says anything. That's an order." 

"Mon Colonel? What…" 

The door was suddenly kicked open as Hochstetter and his men stormed into the barracks. 

"Evening, Major." Hogan gestured his men away. "Social call?" 

"You lied to me!" Hochstetter grabbed Hogan, slammed him against the stove. "You think you can make a fool out of me!" 

"You? A fool? Heaven forbid!" Hogan ducked a fist, causing Hochstetter to hit the stovepipe instead. 

Hochstetter howled, shoved Hogan to his SS guards. "Take him! I will teach him to play games with the Gestapo!" 

"Uh…Major…" Klink stepped forward hesitantly. "Hogan is a Luftwaffe prisoner and the Geneva Convention …" 

"Stay out of this, Klink!" Hochstetter advanced on the Kommandant. "This little pet of yours is a spy and a saboteur. Be careful that I do not charge you with treason for harboring him." 

"Mon Colonel!" LeBeau watched in horror as the SS started to drag Hogan to the door. He tried to follow, but Kinch grabbed his arm.

"Behave, fellows." Hogan shouted. "Kinch, mind the store." 

"Governor!" Newkirk tried to shove Schultz out of his way. "Let me go, you great tub of lard." 

"Newkirk!" Kinch pushed LeBeau towards his bunk, hurriedly yanked Newkirk away from the guards. "Everyone calm down. Colonel's orders!" 

"Bah!" Hochstetter kicked over a chair and shoved a young British private out of his way. "Soon your great Colonel will name names and you will all be up against the wall. I promise you." 

"Why you.." Newkirk stepped towards the Major. Kinch pinned him against a bunk, his hand over the Englishman's mouth.

Hochstetter stormed from the building. Klink stood silently for a moment, gestured to Schultz. "Keep the men in the barracks until further notice." 

"Jawohl!" Schultz noticed Kinch coughing, lowered his voice. "What about the sick men? Colonel Hogan would not like it if no one took care of them while he's gone." 

"Ja, ja. Allow his adjutant to leave the barracks." 

"But that's…" Schultz pointed at Kinch, who had released Newkirk and was leaning against the bunk hacking. 

"Verdammen, Schultz! Handle it! I have other things to deal with!" Klink stalked from the barracks. 

Newkirk cleared his throat in the stunned silence. "I'll see to the sick men, Schultz. Until the governor's back." 

"Thank you, Newkirk. I'm sorry about the Major. I…" Schultz took in the angry, frightened faces." I'll try to find out what's happening." 

Schultz gathered his Luftwaffe guards, herded them out the door. 

LeBeau watched the scene in shock. Everything around him was moving in slow motion and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still asleep. Vaguely he noted that Carter had been standing like a statue throughout the whole fiasco and hadn't moved yet. Kinch had used all his energy keeping everyone calm and had collapsed at the table. Most of the other prisoners were mumbling, staring or pacing. Only Newkirk seemed to be functioning. 

"Come on, Andrew." Newkirk put his arm around Carter and led him to the table. "You know the governor. He'll sort out old Wolfgang." 

Carter shook his head. "What'll we do without Colonel Hogan?" 

"Hey, don't be in such a bloody rush to write him off." Newkirk patted Carter's back awkwardly. "Anyhow, you're not alone, mate. We're all in this together, right?" 

"But this is Colonel Hogan we're talking about." Carter's voice shook. "We're going to rescue him, aren't we?" 

"No, Andrew." Kinch spoke softly, but firmly. "The Colonel left standing orders in case this happened. We're to survive, at whatever cost." 

"But we can't just sit around and do nothing." Newkirk clenched his fists. "They may have the weapons, but we have the numbers. I say we storm the cooler." 

"And sacrifice dozens of lives to rescue one man?" Kinch shook his head, raised his voice. "Listen up, everyone. No one – repeat no one – interferes with the guards. We all carry on as usual. Those are the Colonel's orders and I'll have the head of anyone who goes against them. Any questions?" 

The prisoners mumbled to themselves, but no one dared argue with Kinch. Even if he would have heard them through his latest bout of coughing. 

"Well, I have to do something. Louie, can you make some soup? At least checking on our patients will give me a chance to see what's going on." Newkirk paused as he suddenly realized that LeBeau was sitting motionlessly on his bunk. "Louie? Mon ami, are you alright?" 

LeBeau peered through the fog as his friends gathered around him. "I thought he betrayed us." 

"What? Who?" 

"Mon Colonel. I thought he'd turned collaborator. And now I will never see him again." 

"Hey, Louie." Kinch was beside him on the bunk, wrapping a blanket around him. "Take it easy. You're not making any sense." 

"No. I…" LeBeau shook his head, forced himself to focus on his comrades. "When I was in the cooler, I eavesdropped on the Colonel and Klink. I didn't tell him, but I think he suspects that I was there. And now…I should never have doubted him." 

"What did you hear?" Kinch coaxed gently. "Do you know why Hochstetter took him?" 

"Oui." LeBeau took a deep breath, met his friend's eyes. "He agreed to trade information for penicillin. I thought he had betrayed the Allies, but…" 

"He lied to Hochstetter." Kinch slapped his hand against the bunk. "He played another one of his stupid games and he finally got caught." 

"He did it for us." Carter whispered. "Because we were sick." 

"Damn him!" Kinch shocked the others with the violence of his outburst. "Did he honestly think he could bargain with the Devil and get away with it?" 

"No." Newkirk laid his hand on Kinch's shoulder. "He knew he couldn't pull it off. He just wanted to keep the bugger off balance long enough to get what he wanted." 

"Long enough to save us." Carter turned hopeful eyes to his friends. "Jeez, fellas, we have to do something." 

"We are, Carter. We're going to obey our orders." Kinch stared miserably at his hands. "We're going to survive, whatever the cost." 

* * * * 

"Is your stomach still upset?" LeBeau joined Carter at the table, tried to tempt him with a plate of oatmeal cookies. 

Carter shook his head. "The medicine worked. I feel fine now." 

"The Colonel would not want you to starve yourself." LeBeau glanced at the solitaire game on the table. Carter hadn't made a move in twenty minutes. "He'll be back, Andre." 

"You don't believe that." Carter brushed his hair from his eyes. 

"Oui, I do." For you, LeBeau thought, I will believe. It would be bad enough for the rest of them to lose Hogan, but for Carter… He shook his head. He and Newkirk were not willing participants in this carnage – they only wanted to defend Paris and London. But Carter had left his small town to find adventure and had found himself in the middle of the evil that was the Third Reich. Some benevolent providence had brought his plane down on his first mission, before he had a chance to truly experience life as a bombardier. That same good providence brought him to Stalag 13, where he'd been sheltered from the abuses of other camps. But it appeared that the young American was about to collide with the realities of war. 

LeBeau turned anxiously at the sound of the entrance to the tunnel opening. Newkirk climbed up the stairs, looking pale and shaken. Newkirk, who knew more about the hazards of the real world than any of them, looked shaken. "How is he?" 

"Still alive. The bastard's more interested in humiliating him than killing him." Newkirk crossed to Kinch, joined him on his bunk. The two bent their heads together, spoke in hushed voices. LeBeau felt his heart sink as Kinch covered his face with his hands. He didn't want to know the details. He tried to hold onto the thought that Hogan was still alive. 

"I'm going down there." 

"No, you're not." LeBeau caught Carter's arm. "Play your game." 

"No!" Carter swept the cards from the table. "I'm tired of you guys treating me like a little kid. I want to know what's happening to Colonel Hogan." 

"The bloody animals are torturing him, that's what's happening!" Newkirk shouted across the room. 

"Newkirk." Kinch crossed to the table. "They're trying to break his spirit, Carter, but he's hanging in there. He wouldn't want you to hear what's going on. He'd want you to be safe up here." 

"Then why does Newkirk get to go down there?" 

"Because it's too dangerous for me to be in the tunnels so close to the cooler. One good coughing fit and I could give away our whole operation." Kinch glanced back at Newkirk. "Believe me, Peter doesn't want to go down there. But we need to know what's happening so we know what to expect later on. Does that make sense to you?" 

"I don't know." Carter rubbed his eyes. "I guess so." 

"Good, boy. You just…" Kinch turned at a warning call from the British private stationed at the door. A moment later Cpl Langenscheidt ran into the building. 

"Sgt Kinchloe." Langenscheidt waved a piece of paper. "From Sgt Schultz." 

"Danke." Kinch took the note, nodded to the young guard as he departed. "News from the cooler. He's unconscious."

"Ah. Merci Dieu." 

Carter watched in confusion as the others expressed their relief. "Why are you happy? Doesn't that mean he's hurt?" 

"It means the animals will leave him alone for awhile." Newkirk frowned. "No point in torturing someone who can't appreciate the pain." 

"Oh. I guess." Carter considered. "Shouldn't we try to help him?" 

"Oui. We should go to the cooler and.." 

Kinch shook his head, held up the note. "Schultz says the SS guards are still there. We wouldn't be able to get anywhere near him." 

"We still should take a listen." Newkirk headed for the tunnel.

"I'll go." LeBeau nodded at Carter. "We'll go." 

"Right." Carter was on his feet. "We'll find out what the score is." 

"Ok." Kinch caught Carter's arm. "No noise down there. No matter what. One peep brings the Gestapo down on all of us." 

"I won't screw up, Kinch. I promise." 

LeBeau mouthed 'I'll watch him' and led the way down the ladder. They crept through the winding passages until they drew near enough to the cooler to hear the footsteps of the guards on patrol. LeBeau squatted down along a wall, signaled for Carter to join him. 

"Why do you waste your time?" A harsh voice drifted from the cooler. "That one will never see the light of day again." 

"The Luftwaffe is responsible for him." Schultz's voice was full of concern. "It's against the Geneva Convention to let him bleed to death." 

"Only those who intend to lose a war worry about the Geneva Convention." 

"There are rules, even in wartime." 

"You are as weak as you are fat. The SS doesn't take prisoners, so we don't have to babysit them." 

"I'm not in the SS." 

"What is going on here? Klink, you idiot, why have you let the Gestapo take over your camp?" 

LeBeau beamed and slapped Carter's shoulder. 

"I assure you, General, it is not my intention…." Klink rambled nervously. "Major Hochstetter….I called you as soon as I could…." 

"What's wrong with Hogan?" Burkhalter shouted above their heads. "How long has he been unconscious?" 

"Just a few minutes, Herr General." Schultz spoke urgently. "He's lost a lot of blood." 

"Then get him medical attention." 

"Jawohl, Herr General!" 

"Bah! He is a spy!" 

"What proof do you have? Why was he being interrogated? Hochstetter, I have told you…" 

LeBeau signaled for Carter to follow him, hurried through the tunnel.

"General Burkhalter is here!" Carter shouted the news as he burst into their barracks.

"Yeah, we saw him drive up." Kinch stood at the door with Newkirk. "What'd he do?" 

"He told the SS to get lost." Carter grinned as he joined his friends. "And he told Schultz to get a doctor for Colonel Hogan." 

"You should have heard old Schultzie taking on an SS guard." LeBeau lowered the bunk that concealed their tunnel. "I'm going to make a special strudel all for him." 

"So how's the governor? Did you hear anything?" 

"Schultz said he's lost some blood." LeBeau glossed over his report. "It sounded like he'll be ok." 

"Wait." Kinch gestured to the compound. "Looks like they're taking him somewhere." 

LeBeau squirmed between Newkirk and Kinch to watch the scene outdoors. Schultz was carrying Hogan to Klink's car and putting him in the back seat. Klink ducked around Burkhalter and Hochstetter –who were arguing at the top of their lungs – and slid into the front seat of the car. A moment later Schultz drove out of camp. 

"They're taking him to the hospital, right?" Carter grabbed a cookie from the table. "Everything's ok now, isn't it?" 

"Sure." LeBeau exchanged tired glances with Kinch and Newkirk. Might as well let Carter be happy. The three of them could do enough worrying for everyone. 

* * * * 

"Hey! Klink's back!" Carter shouted the news, bringing everyone to the door. 

"Ok, ok. Let's take it easy. "Kinch shooed most of the prisoners out of the area. "Let's not mob the poor guy. Just let him alone until we know what the situation is." 

LeBeau craned his neck to see outside. Schultz opened the back door of the staff car and the barracks gave a collective sigh of relief when Hogan appeared conscious and on his own feet. Well, Schultz was supporting him, but their commander was definitely vertical. 

Kinch was the first out the door and to the car. "I'll take him, Schultz." 

"Jawohl." Schultz carefully relinquished his charge. "Be careful of his ribs." 

"I can walk." Hogan mumbled as he collapsed against Kinch. 

"Right, sir." Kinch put his arm around the officer, guided him towards his room. 

LeBeau held his breath as their small group gathered around Hogan's bed. The Colonel's face was bruised, but any other injuries were hidden beneath Klink's heavy winter coat. There was something jarring about seeing his commander wearing German insignia. He could tell it bothered Newkirk too. 

"Here now, let's get you more comfortable." Newkirk gently removed the coat and handed it to Carter. "Get this back to the Bald Eagle." 

Carter took the coat, but didn't budge from the room. Like the rest of them, his eyes were intent on Hogan: on the bandages that circled his chest, on the cast on his wrist, on the bruises on his throat. 

"Ok…." Hogan's voice was raspy. "…just need sleep..." 

"I contacted London about a morphine drop, but I'm afraid all we have at the moment is whiskey." 

"…don't need…been drinking schnapps…" Hogan winced as his back brushed against the wall. "Safe to use… radio..?" 

"Yes, sir. The radio detection truck left with Hochstetter." Kinch turned to the silent men stationed by the bed. "Ok, guys, clear out. Let him rest." 

LeBeau protested with the rest, but Kinch easily evicted them. He sat at the table with Newkirk and Carter and stared at Hogan's door. 

"It's not fair." Carter whined. "Kinch gets to be in there." 

"It's his job to see to the Colonel." LeBeau rested his head on his hand, suddenly exhausted. 

"Well, it's going to be my job to see to the Major." Newkirk slammed his deck of cards on the table. "The two of us are going to have a nice long chat." 

"Oui. I'll help you." LeBeau sat upright as the Colonel's door slowly opened. 

"They worked him over pretty bad, but he's going to be ok." Kinch waited for the chorus of relief to die down. "He doesn't want to talk about it. As far as he's concerned, the topic's off-limits." 

"But…" 

"No buts, Carter." Kinch turned away to cough, then reclaimed his tone of authority. "Newkirk, we have to get word to the Underground. Let them know that our operation might be compromised." 

"Right. I'll see to it." 

"LeBeau, see if you can get Schultz to let you into the cooler. He'll want his jacket back." 

LeBeau sighed. At least it was better than cooking for the dirty Bosch. 

"I'll help you, Louie." Carter was on his heels, still carrying Klink's coat. 

"Oui. Come along." LeBeau didn't really want company. He didn't want to be running Kinch's errands. But the one thing he did want – to find out for himself how Hogan felt – was verboten. So he set off on his errand. 

"Do you think he's serious about not talking to the Colonel?" Carter whispered as they left the barracks.

LeBeau nodded. "You know the Colonel. He likes his privacy." 

"This isn't about privacy! I mean, they hurt him really bad. If it was me…" 

"But it isn't you." LeBeau halted, faced the younger man. "What do you know about the Gestapo, Andre?" 

Carter shrugged. "Just that you don't want to be questioned by them." 

"Oui. Because they are swine who kill the spirit as well as the body. I've seen Resistance leaders who have been guests of the Gestapo– it would have been better for them if they'd died." 

"You don't mean that about Colonel Hogan!" 

"Of course not." LeBeau resumed walking. "If mon Colonel wishes to forget what happened, I won't remind him. Neither will you." 

"Right. I mean, I guess not. I mean I won't…" 

"Schultz!" LeBeau waved the guard over. "We need a favor." 

"What kind of favor?" Schultz studied the prisoners warily. "I do not want any monkey business today." 

"No trouble. We just want to return the Kommandant's coat and get Colonel Hogan's jacket from the cooler." LeBeau flashed a genuine smile. 'And I wanted to thank you for taking care of the Colonel." 

" I didn't do much." Schultz frowned at the cooler. "It's not good for you to go in there right now. I'll get his things." 

"Thanks." LeBeau tried not to imagine what Schultz didn't want him to see. Instead he concentrated on the best meal to cook for the Colonel. Something easy on the stomach but tempting to stubborn officers. 

"Here he comes." Carter shifted from one foot to the other. "Bet the Colonel will be glad to get his jacket back." 

LeBeau mumbled a reply, too tired for idle chatter. 

Schultz shuffled out of the cooler, quickly exchanged Hogan's jacket & cap for Klink's coat and attempted to hurry on. 

"Hey, Schultz!" LeBeau followed the fleeing guard. "Where's his shirt? And his dog-tags? 

"We threw out his shirt. His ID-tags aren't here." 

"Well, where are they?" LeBeau circled in front of the guard, motioned for Carter to do the same. Schultz tried to dodge them, but was easily blocked. "You took his insignia off his shirt, didn't you?" 

"Of course, but…" Schultz whispered nervously. "Major Hochstetter took them." 

"What?" Carter looked to LeBeau. "Why'd he do that?" 

"For a trophy." LeBeau spat in the snow. "Stinking Bosch!" 

"LeBeau!" 

Carter ignored Schultz' reprimand, concentrated on LeBeau's string of hostile French. "It's not really so bad, Louie. I mean, we know he's a Colonel." 

"Oui. And if he's caught outside of camp without ID, he's shot as a spy." 

"Oh." Carter frowned momentarily. "Well, Lon…" 

"Carter!" 

"Oh, uh…" Carter stammered. "I guess we better get back to the Colonel. He'll be wondering where we went." 

LeBeau stomped back to the barracks, cursing the filthy Bosch all the way. He frowned at the sight of Newkirk running a craps game in the common room. How dare he gamble while their commander was in pain!

"Before you say anything…" Newkirk held out his hands for peace. "This is his idea. I'm just a lowly corporal following orders." 

LeBeau shot the Englishman his best glare, skirted the bevy of gamblers to make a fresh pot of coffee. From the corner of his eye he saw Carter slip into Hogan's room. Kinch escorted him out a moment later. 

Carter sat dejectedly on his bunk and surreptitiously brushed at his eyes. LeBeau glanced away to avoid embarrassing the young American. For himself, he was beyond sorrow. He wanted revenge. 

* * * * 


	2. Kinch

The noise from the gambling in the outside room drowned out Hogan's moans as Kinch gently tugged off the remains of the officer's uniform. "Sorry, Colonel. It's almost over." 

"Ok…. don't need help..." 

"Right, sir." Kinch tossed the stained slacks onto the floor and dipped a towel into a bucket of water. He ignored Hogan's protests as he cleaned the man up. 

"….order you….leave alone…." 

"Yes, sir." Kinch continued with his task, easily restraining the injured man as he tried to push him away. 

"Kinch!" Hogan caught the man's arm, forced a level of command into his voice, "Get out …before …I have… you… court-martialed." 

"Sorry, sir. I have my orders." 

"Orders?" Hogan groaned as he tried futilely to sit up. "Whose orders?" 

"Yours. You made me your adjutant and that means my chief duty is to secure the health and safety of my commanding officer." Kinch flashed a small smile as he gently pushed the officer back onto his bunk. "That would be you, sir." 

"Kinch…" Hogan bit his lip to stifle a moan. 

"Colonel…" Kinch silently cursed his commander's obstinacy. "I'm not Carter or LeBeau. I don't believe you can walk on water. You don't have to hide your pain from me. " 

"Officers …perfect." Hogan laughed shakily. "Didn't they teach you…….boot camp?" 

"Only God is perfect. The rest of us just have to do the best we can." Kinch tended his commander's wounds as quickly as he could, hoping to get Hogan settled for the night with as little distress as possible. There wasn't much he could do that the German doctors hadn't already done, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw for himself that Hogan's injuries had been treated. 

"Kinch?" 

"Almost done." 

"Kinch." Hogan's voice was barely audible. "I don't remember…. I don't know if …I said anything…." 

" I know. You didn't." 

"What makes you… so sure?" 

"We're all still alive." Kinch didn't mention that he'd sent Newkirk into the tunnel to monitor the interrogation. There was no point. 

"Don't know…Can't remember." 

"There's nothing to worry about. You didn't talk." Kinch tucked a blanket around the officer. "Go to sleep now. It's over. The Krauts will have to go through us to get to you." 

"No trouble…..Order…" 

"Yes, sir." Kinch rearranged a pillow to ease Hogan's labored breathing. "Sleep, Colonel. That's an order." 

"…break you. ..to private…." 

Kinch allowed himself a small smile as Hogan drifted to sleep. Or into unconsciousness. For the first time since Hochstetter had stormed into their barracks, Kinch felt a small measure of control. Hogan was alive and with them. Tomorrow might bring anything, but for the moment Hogan was safe. 

"It's over. I won't let them touch you again. You're safe." Kinch knew the words were merely hollow assurances, but he felt the need to say them. If not for Hogan, then for himself. 

He silently dragged a chair beside Hogan's bunk and smothered a cough as he settled in for the night's vigil. Intellectually he knew that he should be in bed himself, that he should appoint one of the other men to care for their commander. There would be no shortage of volunteers for the job, but Kinch had no intention of turning the watch over to anyone else. 

He took as deep a breath as his beleaguered lungs would permit and tried to clear his head. Part of him wanted to rush out and shoot the first German he saw – Hochstetter, Schultz, it made no difference who. Another part of him wanted to shake the injured man beside him for endangering himself when they all depended on him. Still another part of him was haunted by guilt for benefiting from Hogan's sacrifice. But the greatest emotion -- the one that knotted his stomach and made his heart race – was fear. Fear that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to protect his commander when he couldn't protect himself. 

"Kinch!" Newkirk pushed open the door, whispered loudly. "Klink's on the way." 

Kinch nodded, instinctively moved closer to Hogan. Newkirk took a protective stance at the foot of the bunk. LeBeau and Carter flanked Klink and Schultz as the Germans entered the room. 

"Dismissed." Klink raised his voice as he was ignored. "I said dismissed." 

"With respect, Kommandant." Kinch indicated his friends. "We can't allow you to be alone with him while he's unconscious." 

"It's against the Geneva Convention." Carter piped up hopefully. 

Schultz shook his head in warning, but Klink merely grumbled to himself. 

"If I'd wanted him dead, I could easily have left him bleeding in his cell." Klink waved away LeBeau and Carter, took a seat on the bunk beside Hogan. 

Kinch tensed as Klink uncovered the wounded man, but held the others back with a look. Klink might enjoy tossing Hogan into the cooler or exhibiting him as his prize Allied captive, but he had never harmed the American. Not yet, anyway. Still, it took every ounce of restraint he had to do nothing while an enemy officer touched his helpless commander. 

"He'll be weak for some time, but the doctor assures me he'll recover. He'll need to be kept warm and his wounds kept clean." 

Kinch cut off the mumbling from around the room. "We'll take care of him, Kommandant. Thank you for taking him to the hospital." 

Klink nodded and for the first time Kinch noted the exhaustion on the Kommandant's face. And the blood on his uniform jacket. The same blood that stained Schultz' coat and the discarded slacks on the floor. Klink replaced Hogan's blanket and leaned over him for a moment. He spoke in whispered German, but Kinch caught enough to know that his fears about leaving Hogan alone with their captor were groundless. 

"I'll post Cpl Langenscheidt outside your barracks tonight with orders to wake me if Hogan needs medical attention." Klink looked as though he would say more, but he trailed off. 

"Thank you, Colonel. " Kinch gestured the others to attention as Klink bid them a hasty good night and slipped from the barracks with Schultz. 

"Who does he think he is?" Newkirk caught himself before he slammed Hogan's door shut. "Telling us how to take care of the governor after the bloody bastards nearly kill him? I'd just like to see him try to come back here and …." 

"That's enough, Newkirk. We need Klink on our side." 

LeBeau cursed in French. "Mon Colonel does not need that stinking Bosch. I won't let the animal touch him again." 

"Ok, guys." Kinch put a finger to his lips. "Let him sleep." 

"Sleep?" Newkirk scoffed. "The man's bloody unconscious. Couldn't wake him with a flipping 21-gun-salute." 

"Newkirk." Kinch shook his head, pointed at Carter. The young sergeant had taken a seat beside Hogan and was staring intently at the slow rise and fall of the Colonel's chest. "He's ok, Carter. He'll be up and yelling at you in no time." 

Carter forced a grin, but Kinch knew nothing short of Hogan stomping through the barracks in an ill-tempered tirade would convince any of them that their Papa Bear was recovered. 

"Oui. All will be well, Andre." 

Kinch felt a pang of guilt at the lack of conviction in LeBeau's voice. Hogan had once told him that he'd chosen each man on the team for their temperaments as much as for their talents. He was Hogan's pragmatist, Newkirk was his pessimist. LeBeau was his idealist, but no one who saw the little Frenchman at this moment would believe that. The fiery little freedom fighter sat dejectedly by Hogan's head, whispering to the man in French. Kinch did his best not to overhear. Like Klink's mumbled apology for Hochstetter's treatment, LeBeau's hushed message was for Hogan alone. 

Instead, Kinch turned his attention to Carter. Hogan had shrugged off his question regarding Carter's defining temperament, but Kinch thought he knew what it was. Carter was Hogan's innocent. The one who believed in his hero so completely that he would allow him to tape plans to his back, dump him in a freezing well, toss him to Klink to be interrogated or let him aim a loaded rifle at him in order to get Schultz' attention. Carter might whine and plead, but he never refused Hogan anything. Ever. 

"Why don't you get some sleep, Andrew?" Kinch gently tugged the younger man away from Hogan. "You know he'll give you a rough time if he wakes up and finds you staring at him." 

"Yeah, I guess." Carter took a hesitant step toward the door. "But…what did they do to him?" 

"They…" Kinch cleared his voice. "They knocked him around. Broke his ribs and his wrist, banged his head against a wall….He's in a lot of pain right now, but we'll take care of him and he'll recover. The Kraut hasn't been born who can get the best of our Papa Bear, right?" 

Carter nodded and grudgingly obeyed Kinch's order to go to bed. 

"You too, Louie." Kinch turned away to cough. "You have to be up early to make his breakfast." 

"Oui." LeBeau brushed a stray lock of hair from Hogan's face, turned dark eyes to Kinch. "There is more than you've told Andre." 

Kinch exchanged glances with Newkirk, nodded reluctantly. "You know the Gestapo better than anyone, Louie. You know what they do to Resistance leaders." 

LeBeau nodded, his hand protectively on Hogan's shoulder. "They didn't break mon Colonel. I don't care what that pig Hochstetter did to him." 

Kinch nodded, though he wasn't so sure. From what Newkirk had heard, Hochstetter had done his best to humiliate and break Hogan. It was the Gestapo way – destroy the spirit and return the empty shell to his people as a warning. He refused to believe that they'd be successful this time. "Go to bed, Louie. I'll stay with him." 

"Come on, mon ami." Newkirk tugged his friend to his feet. "Get some sleep. I'll mind the governor." 

Kinch shook his head. "I'll stay. You get some sleep too." 

" And let you spend the whole bloody night hacking all over the man? Are you crazy, mate? The governor can hardly breathe now what with his ribs all broken. He doesn't need pneumonia too." 

"I…" Kinch's rebuttal was interrupted by a fit of coughing. He knew Newkirk was right, but that didn't make it any easier to surrender his post and find an isolated bunk in the other room. But if he was going to trust anyone with Hogan tonight, the Englander would be his first choice. Peter had spent hours in the confines of the tunnel, helplessly listening to Hochstetter's interrogation. Even pessimists had the right to see their heroes sleeping in safety. 

* * * * 

"Easy now, sir. You'll be making yourself sick." 

Kinch leaned in the doorway, a slight smile on his lips. Newkirk was helping Hogan drink something and he doubted it was water. LeBeau was slumped across the small table nearby, a bottle of wine by his elbow. A deck of cards was scattered by the sleeping Frenchman's head. He wasn't particularly surprised to discover that LeBeau had joined Newkirk at his post, but Kinch was chagrined that he'd slept through what must have been a noisy vigil. 

"Morning, Colonel." Kinch crossed to the bunk. "How are you feeling?" 

"Like having the next person who babies me court-martialed." 

Kinch laughed, exchanged a relieved glance with Newkirk. "How long has he been awake?" 

"Too long, if you ask me." Newkirk ducked away from the bed. "Your turn, Kinch. I'm turning myself in to the Gestapo." 

"Take Louie with you." 

"And that one." Hogan pointed upwards. 

Kinch glanced at the top bunk and chuckled. Carter was burrowed under a blanket, sound asleep. How many people had managed to roam in here while he had been sacked out next door? "Come on, Carter. Rise and shine." 

"Go 'way." 

"Up and at 'em, Sgt." Kinch shook the younger man. "Rausch!" 

"Oh, alright." Carter clambered to the floor, nearly falling on Hogan as he did so. Kinch caught him and steadied him while he got his bearings. The events of the previous day suddenly hit him as he realized where he was. "Colonel Hogan! You're awake!" 

"Brilliant, Carter." Newkirk smacked LeBeau's arm none-too-gently. "Get up, you lazy frog." 

"Colonel." Carter ignored Kinch's terse warning, knelt beside Hogan. "Are you ok, sir?" 

"I will be once you all clear out." Hogan swallowed a moan as he shifted positions. "Don't you fellows have a war to fight?" 

"Mon Colonel!" LeBeau drew closer, despite Newkirk's best efforts. "You're awake!" 

Kinch couldn't help laughing as Hogan fended off LeBeau's attempt to fuss over him. "Ok, guys. Everyone out while you still have your rank." 

Newkirk propelled the protesting men towards the door. "All yours, Kinch. Good luck." 

"Thanks." Kinch tried to wipe the smile from his face, but found he couldn't. A grumpy, surly officer he could deal with. The thought of a cringing, broken man wearing Hogan's face had terrified him. Had terrified them all. 

"What are you grinning about? Don't you have a radio to monitor?" 

"Baker is on the job." Kinch cautiously took a seat next to Hogan. "You should let me take a long at those wounds. You can't afford an infection." 

Hogan shook his head, then winced. "Damn." 

"Sir?" 

"Nothing." Hogan closed his eyes for a moment, slowly opened them again. "What time is it?" 

"It's about twenty minutes to roll call." Kinch caught Hogan's shoulders as he tried to rise. "Whoa. What are you doing?" 

"Getting ready for roll call." Hogan pushed Kinch away. "Where's my uniform?" 

"You don't have to get up. Not even Klink would expect you to be there this morning." 

"That's exactly why I'm going to be there." Hogan clutched the side of the bunk as he dragged himself to his feet. "Where is my damn uniform?!" 

"Colonel…." Kinch sighed and decided that humoring the man was the better part of valor. He grabbed Hogan's spare shirt and slacks, making a mental note to contact London about a replacement uniform. "Easy, sir. Let me help you." 

"I'm perfectly capable of getting dressed by myself." 

"Yes, sir." Kinch steadied the man as he fought with the slacks. Hogan grumbled a weak protest when it came to the shirt, but allowed the sergeant to help him. Kinch reached for Hogan's winter dress coat, but the man shook his head stubbornly. 

"My bomber jacket." 

Kinch sighed. He'd argued with Hogan before about image versus practicality. He'd never come close to winning. 

"Where's my insignia?" 

"I…." Kinch stumbled for an explanation. 

"Never mind. I remember." Hogan closed his eyes and reached for the bunk. 

Kinch moved quickly to support the trembling man. He felt his throat constrict as it dawned on him that Hogan was shaking in fear. 

"I'm sorry. I…" Hogan struggled to compose himself. "Just dizzy for a moment." 

"It's ok." Kinch tried to maneuver the man back to bed. "Why don't you rest this morning? You can make the evening roll call." 

"No. I …" Hogan took a deep breath. "If I don't make it this morning, I don't think I'll ever make it." 

"But…" Kinch couldn't face the fear in the officer's eyes. "No one will blame you for taking it easy for awhile. We all know what you've been through." 

"That's why I have to be there." 

"Colonel…" Kinch shifted to get a more secure grip on the other man. "You can hardly stand. How is passing out in the snow going to help morale?" 

"I just have to keep on my feet for a few minutes." Hogan slowly pushed away from Kinch. "Nothing to it." 

"Uh-huh." Kinch shook his head in frustration. He'd listened to too many of Hogan's lectures on the obligations of command to think he could talk the man into being sensible. Especially when he knew the Colonel was right – the morale of a 1000 prisoners depended on this one man's ability to take his place in line at roll call. "Ok, but if you're going for image, we're going to have to do something with your hair." 

"What?"

"It's tangled and matted from… I tried to clean it up, but I think we're going to have to cut it." 

Hogan laughed weakly. "That's the final straw. I'm killing that bastard." 

"Don't worry, sir. I'll handle that little detail." Kinch didn't even pretend to be joking.

* * * 

Kinch stood at attention, but his eyes were fixed on Hogan's back. The man was shivering, whether from cold, pain or fear he didn't know. Klink was hurrying through the roll call and Kinch dared to hope that he could get Hogan back in bed before he fell over. 

"Dismissed!" Klink hastily returned the senior POW.'s weak salute. "Go back to bed, Colonel." 

Kinch moved forward to steer Hogan inside, but the man followed Klink towards the next barracks. 

"Just look at the sun coming over the barbed wire, Kommandant. Breath-taking, isn't it?" Hogan's voice was strained, but audible throughout the ranks. 

"What is he doing?" Newkirk spoke between clenched teeth. "Has he finally gone balmy?" 

"No." Kinch exhaled loudly. "Just doing his job." 

"His job?" LeBeau rambled incoherently in French. 

"I don't know what Louie said exactly, but I'm with him." Carter stared after Hogan as he made his way across the compound. "We should make the Colonel come inside." 

Kinch snickered at the thought of Carter making Hogan do anything. "Leave him alone, Andrew. He knows what he's doing. " 

"Yeah, well….." Carter stammered. "I don't." 

"There's something new." Newkirk started across the compound. "Come on. We might as well be there when he keels over." 

Kinch followed the others. They tried to look nonchalant as they trailed Hogan and Klink across the compound, but they probably weren't fooling anyone. He realized as the last barracks was dismissed that he'd been gnawing on his lip and had managed to draw blood. 

"Now what?" Newkirk griped as Hogan followed Klink to his office. "Does he have to tour the whole bloody compound?" 

"Probably just some camp business." Kinch coughed. "He shouldn't be long." 

"You should be inside." LeBeau pushed him towards their barracks. "We'll wait for him." 

Kinch started to argue, but a better idea came to mind. He hurried across the compound and slipped into Hogan's office. He knew better than to do what he was contemplating. He had standing orders from Hogan not to even consider it. And under normal circumstances the thought would be the farthest thing from his mind. But these were not normal circumstances, so he reached for the coffeepot. 

Klink's voice came through loud and clear. "You're ill. Let me send for your Negro." 

"His name is Sgt Kinchloe and I'll get back under my own steam. Eventually." 

"Your stubbornness will be the death of you one day." 

"Probably." 

The room fell silent and Kinch considered his options. There must be some plausible reason for him to barge into the Kommandant's office. A burgeoning riot perhaps or…." 

"Colonel." Klink's voice was unusually subdued. "You can't continue to antagonize Hochstetter. He will kill you." 

"I'm painfully aware of that." 

"Perhaps it would be best for you to be transferred to another camp. Or perhaps we could arrange a prisoner exchange to get you back to the Allies." 

"What for? Just so I can get shot down again? " 

"Listen to me, Hogan. General Burkhalter says you come from a military family, that you have high-ranking relatives…." 

"Hogan, Robert E. Colonel…" 

"This isn't a game." Kinch was surprised at the anger in Klink's voice. "Hochstetter has already been bragging in Berlin that he's abused an American Colonel. Do you honestly think he's through with you?" 

"I'm no spy, Kommandant. You have to believe that." 

"The Gestapo is not interested in facts. The moment you lied to Hochstetter, you signed your death warrant." 

"What was I supposed to do? My boys were dying." 

"Your boys!" There was the sound of footsteps. "Look at your boys, Colonel. The refuse of Europe. Are they worth dying for?" 

"Be careful, Colonel. That refuse is going to take this camp one day." 

"I see this conversation is pointless. Schultz!" 

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." 

"Help Hogan back to his barracks. He's not to step foot outside again without my permission." 

"Jawohl." 

"It's alright, Schultz. I can walk." 

"Take him outside. His men are waiting for him." 

"Ja…" 

Kinch pulled the plug on the coffeepot, hastily stowed it in its hiding place. He was dozing in his bunk by the time the others returned. 

* * * 

Kinch sat at the small table in Hogan's room, ostensibly reading a radio repair manual. In actuality, he was eavesdropping on Sasha's Russian course. Papa Bear was a brilliant man, but the subtleties of foreign languages often escaped him. 

"Nyet! You have told me to put my gun in my ear! Try again." 

Kinch coughed to cover a laugh. Hogan wasn't fooled and sent him a scathing look. Kinch shrugged it off and pretended to return to his manual, though his mind couldn't be farther from radio repair. He hazarded a glance at Hogan to see if he wanted him to escort Sasha out, but the Colonel seemed genuinely interested in the lesson. He also looked drawn and pale, but that went without saying these days. 

Kinch sighed. The last two days had been an exhausting roller coaster of emotions. Hogan was irritable one moment, distant the next. Fear, pain, anger and duty tugged at the man, keeping him from getting the rest he needed. Kinch did his best to shield the officer from the outside world, but it wasn't an easy task. 

Kinch hadn't fully realized how important Hogan had become to the camp until the food started arriving. Borsch, vichyssoise, mulligan stew, chicken soup. Every comfort food from every land appeared at their doorstep, guaranteed to get the Colonel back on his feet in no time. Candy bars and cigarettes, blankets and gloves – men who had nothing were determined that Hogan get what few perks the camp had to offer. 

Not all their visitors had been Allies. That Schultz brought fruit was no surprise. Neither was Langenscheidt's donation of his father's old sweaters. Even the bottles of schnapps that the Kommandant slid to Hogan when no one was watching weren't entirely unexpected. But the offerings that appeared outside the barracks in the dead of night – the blood tonics and the home remedies neatly labeled for the 'Oberst.' Those had been a surprise. 

Kinch found himself wondering about the secret of Hogan's popularity. Unlike Carter, he could see their commander's faults. Hogan was short-tempered, rash, vain and arrogant. But he was also the man who walked into the Negro barracks on his first day at the camp and asked to meet with their spokesman. The concept had been completely alien to Kinch and the other colored prisoners. They had no spokesman because no one had ever been interested in anything they had to say. Kinch had taken on the role from curiosity, never expecting that this cocky white officer would listen to him. Never expecting that his duties would expand until he was responsible for keeping said cocky white officer alive. 

Sasha segued into a lecture on the comparative military strategies of Roosevelt and Stalin. Kinch could almost see Hogan filing the information away in case he ever found himself on a Soviet battlefield. The fact that Sasha was a sergeant – and an insubordinate one, at that – didn't seem to bother the Colonel. He gave the Russian wide discretion in the running of the Soviet camp, requiring only a token amount of military protocol. But Kinch knew that if the situation called for it, Hogan would yank on Sasha's leash and demand obedience. And he'd get it, though Sasha would deny ever being one of his subordinates. 

Perhaps, Kinch mused, that was the secret of Hogan's popularity. Their previous senior POW had been a good man and fair, but he'd hidden behind a wall of military correctness. His death on that stark February morning had brought a sense of loss, yet the camp had moved on. But when Hogan crossed the compound on the coldest day of the year in his bomber jacket and paused to share a joke in badly accented French or Russian he inspired not salutes, but loyalty. 

To the youngsters, Hogan was the protector who never backed down from the Krauts. To the war-weary veterans, he was the con-artist who got them extra rations and warm blankets. To those who knew about the operation, he was a genuine hero playing a very dangerous game. For the majority of the camp, nothing was more reassuring then the sight of the arrogant Colonel stomping up the steps to Klink's office. There was a minority – those who resented Hogan as a collaborator, a Negro-lover or as a too-cocky American – who would prefer another commander. Kinch made it his job to know who they were and what there were up to. 

"Colonel Hogan!" Carter rushed into the small office. "Trouble, sir!" 

"Carter!" Kinch was on his feet. "You know better than to bother the Colonel." 

"I'm sorry…" 

"What's the problem, Carter?" Hogan allowed Sasha to help him from bed. 

Carter pointed wordlessly behind him. 

"What is…" Hogan broke off, swore softly. 

Kinch saw the fear flicker across the Colonel's face, turned to find Major Hochstetter in the doorway. 

"Well, Hogan. You look well." Hochstetter smiled at his victim. 

"Major." Hogan forced himself to meet the Gestapo agent's eyes. "Is this a social visit?" 

"Hogan…" Klink growled a warning. 

"No, Klink. He's right." Hochstetter stepped closer to Hogan. "This is a social visit." 

"It is?" Klink shook his head. "I mean… Of course, it is. You know that my stalag is …" 

"Yes, Hogan. I came to apologize for the unpleasantness of the other day. I hope you'll accept my apology." Hochstetter trailed his fingers across the bruises on Hogan's face. "I'm afraid your little trick got me quite angry, but what's a few lies among friends, eh?" 

Hogan collided with the wall as he backed away from the agent. Kinch tried to move to his commander's aid, but a circle of black-clad guards stood between him and Hogan. 

"In fact, I'm so sorry for the way I treated you that I'd like you to join me at the guest quarters for dinner." Hochstetter slid his hand to the dark splotches on Hogan's throat. "Perhaps we'll open some of Klink's good French wine." 

"That's a wonderful idea." Klink spoke nervously. "You and Hogan can come to my quarters and…" 

"No, Klink. I think not." Hochstetter grinned wolfishly. " The Colonel and I would prefer a quiet night of conversation." 

"I can cook for you." LeBeau struggled to sound excited. "Anything you want." 

"Right, and I'll be your waiter." Newkirk bowed from the waist. "Welcome to Chez LeBeau's fine…" 

"Thank you, but I think I have everything I need with me." Hochstetter gestured to his men, who aimed their weapons at Hogan. "Well, Robert? Shall we?" 

"Major…" Klink trailed off helplessly. 

"It's ok, fellas." Hogan dredged up a half-smile. "I'm sure the Major just wants some privacy to negotiate his surrender." 

Kinch tried to think of something comforting to say, but words failed him. Hogan was the one who did his best to reassure them as he followed Hochstetter from the barracks. Klink slammed the door as he stalked from the building.

* * * * 

Kinch shifted his feet as he waited for Schultz to conduct the evening roll call. His attention, like that of his friends, was focused on the guest quarters. It'd been two excruciating hours since Hogan had left with Hochstetter and not even Schultz was able to find out what was happening to the Colonel. Newkirk had traveled through the tunnel until he was beneath the guest quarters, but all he heard was muffled sounds drowned out by Wagner music. Not even Carter believed that all was well. 

"Kinch!" Carter caught his arm, pointed across the compound. Hochstetter was striding from the building and calling for his car. The roll call halted as all eyes watched the hated man drive from the compound. 

"Schultz." Klink gestured at the guest quarters. "See to Hogan." 

"Jawohl…" Schultz broke off, as did everyone who'd been talking. 

The door to the far building opened and Hogan appeared on the porch. He walked slowly – but steadily – towards the formation. Kinch fought the impulse to run to his side. He knew the stubborn officer would never accept help, especially not in front of the whole camp. 

The prisoners drew to attention as Hogan came near and Kinch thought that the American was whistling something as he approached. He realized – as the French airmen broke into song – that it had been the Marseilles. The tune changed as he passed the varying barracks until God Save the King competed with O Canada and Advance Australia while the Song of Stalin threatened to eclipse the Star Spangled Banner. Kinch couldn't help smiling at the cacophony around him as their international group joined in the rebellious display. He shook his head in awe as Hogan managed to raise morale in a matter of moments. 

His smile quickly disappeared as Klink started towards Hogan. Kinch broke ranks and followed the Kommandant. 

"Colonel." Klink halted awkwardly a few feet from the American. "Do you need a doctor?" 

Hogan shook his head, but Kinch saw the pain the simple gesture caused. 

"If I can do anything for you…." 

"I just want…." Hogan swayed. "Kinch…" 

"It's ok, Colonel. Lean on me." Kinch was amazed when the officer did as he was told and allowed Kinch to support nearly all of his weight. Newkirk was suddenly beside them, parting the way through the gathering crowd to get Hogan inside as quickly as possible. LeBeau and Carter mumbled assurances to the worried and shooed away the curious. 

"Are you ok, Colonel?" Carter hovered about as Kinch and Newkirk settled Hogan onto his bunk. 

"Out, Carter." Kinch's tone invited no discussion. "All of you, out." 

The three men grumbled, but the door finally closed behind them. Kinch gingerly unzipped Hogan's jacket. 

"No!" Hogan pushed the man away. "Leave me alone." 

"Colonel…" Kinch fell silent as Hogan rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow. He thought he heard a muffled sob, but that wasn't possible. He gently covered Hogan, deciding that he'd wait for the man to calm down or fall asleep before he checked him for injuries. He also decided that it was time to contact London and arrange for Papa Bear to escape while he was still alive. He didn't care if that meant the end of the operation. He wouldn't sit idly by and watch Hochstetter smirk while Hogan was systematically destroyed. 

The door opened slowly and Kinch barked an order for the intruder to leave. Klink entered regardless. He stared at the sergeant for an uncomfortable moment, then took a seat beside Hogan. "Colonel?" 

Kinch hurried to fill the silence. "He's exhausted." 

Klink produced a small box from his overcoat pocket, revealed a hypodermic needle. 

"Kommandant, I can't allow you…" 

"It's for the pain." Klink nodded towards the door. "There are three guards in the outer room. Shall I call them?" 

Kinch bit back his retort. He gnawed on his lip while Klink injected the man. Hogan roused himself enough to protest, but Klink pushed him back on the bed. "Lie still. You're not in any danger." 

"What….?" Hogan reached for the needle, but Klink easily evaded him. 

"Hochstetter is a bastard. He's not interested in interrogating you. He only wants to see you in pain. Once he proves you're a spy, you'll be dead and I'll be at the Russian front. " 

"I'm not…" 

"It doesn't matter. Don't you see that? The Gestapo is never wrong. Hochstetter has gone too far to stop now. The only solution is to….." Klink paused as Hogan rubbed his eyes and attempted to sit up. 

"What…did you do….?….Kinch…." 

"Rest. It's just a sedative. It won't harm you." 

Guilt assaulted Kinch as he watched Hogan struggling to remain conscious. Why had he trusted Klink? 

"Listen, Hogan. Schultz is taking you to another camp. It'd be suicidal to escape in this weather and with your injuries, but I assume you'll try. The drug will see that you don't succeed." 

"…please…." Hogan caught the German's arm. "…have to stay…" 

"Colonel!" Kinch pushed past Klink as Hogan's eyes closed. "If you've poisoned him…" 

"He's fine, sergeant." Klink sighed wearily. 

"Sir, there's no need to transfer him. We can take care of him and…" 

"And what will you do when Hochstetter returns? Do you enjoy seeing him tortured?" 

"Of course not, but…" Kinch considered the sedated man. "At least let him stay until he's recovered from his injuries." 

"At the rate Hochstetter is inflicting them, that will be a very long time. "Klink raised his voice. "Schultz!" 

"Sir…" Kinch shook his head in defeat. The one time Hogan had truly needed him and he'd failed. All he could do now was beg for enough time to treat his commander's injuries before turning him over to the enemy. 

* * * * 


	3. Newkirk

Newkirk caught himself saluting the truck as it pulled out of the front gate. It was a pointless gesture – the occupant was unconscious -- but somehow it felt right. A deep sense of loss settled on him as he stared down the road. He wanted to escape, to follow the truck. And he wanted to belt Kinch. 

"It wasn't his fault, mon ami." LeBeau had seen the angry glare he'd directed at the radioman. "Fighting Klink would have been suicidal." 

"Spoken like a true Frenchman." Newkirk regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. LeBeau was the most patriotic of their group and the last one who would abandon a wounded comrade. He knew he should apologize, but the insult had been too sharp. LeBeau stomped off to their barracks. Kinch shot Newkirk a look of disgust, then followed his friend. 

Newkirk shrugged it off – or tried to. He didn't need Kinch and LeBeau any more than he needed Hogan. He'd survived before them, he could do it again. In fact, he preferred being a loner. Life was simpler when the only neck he had to worry about was his own. 

He walked aimlessly across the compound. He heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder. He had a tagalong. "What do you want?" 

Carter shook his head. 

"If you're here to tell me I was out of line with LeBeau, don't bother. I know he's no coward." 

"I know." Carter slipped into step beside him. 

"But if you think I'm going to apologize to Kinch when he stood by while Klink drugged the governor, you can just forget it. Hell will freeze over first." 

"I know." 

"You do, huh? Then what do you want?" 

Carter shrugged. 

Newkirk shook his head. Bleeding idiot. He strode several paces, uncomfortably aware of his silent companion. He finally halted and leaned against a barracks. "He's ok, you know." 

"Who?" 

"Who?! You know damn well who." 

"The Colonel?" Carter looked hopeful. "Do you really think he's ok?" 

"Well, he's with old Schultzie, isn't he? He's not about to take him into a field and put a bullet through his head." 

"Yeah, but…" 

"But nothing. The Colonel will be right as rain just as soon as he gets settled into his high and mighty officer's camp." Newkirk winked. " I hear they even have birds there." 

"Birds? You mean girls? Really?" 

Newkirk laughed. Carter could be so gullible. "Right. And I'm King George." 

"Oh." Carter scanned the camp nervously. "What are we gonna do without Colonel Hogan?" 

"Same as always, I expect. Wait for the tanks to show up at the gate so we can all go home." 

"Yeah, but…" 

"Carter…" Newkirk softened his tone. "You're not alone, mate. Me and Kinch and LeBeau – we'll keep an eye on you. Just like the governor did." 

"I guess you think I'm a coward. I mean, I know you're never scared. Neither is LeBeau. And Kinch – boy, he never loses his cool." 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Newkirk glanced at the guard towers. "You're in the middle of a Nazi prison camp, with a crazy Gestapo agent on the prowl. You'd be balmy not to be scared." 

"Really? You don't think I'm yellow?" 

Newkirk shook his head. "You just hang in there. You'll get back to Bullfrog ok. I'll see to that." 

"Thanks, Newkirk." 

Newkirk resumed walking before Carter could get too emotional. "So, tell me about this Bullfrog of yours. What's it like? " 

"Oh, I don't know. I guess you'd find it pretty boring after London and all. But it's my home." 

"Well, that's all that matters, isn't it? You got folks there?" 

"My mom." Carter paused. " My dad died a couple of years before I enlisted. He was a great guy. He was a lot like Colonel Hogan." 

"Yeah, that figures." 

"What about you? Is you dad like…?"

Newkirk shook his head. "More like Hochstetter." 

"Oh." Carter glanced away. "Sorry." 

"It doesn't matter. I haven't seen him in years." Newkirk steered Carter back towards their barracks. "Come on. Looks like we've got company." 

Carter drew closer to Newkirk as they watched two staff cars drive into camp. 

By the time they reached Barracks Two, Kinch and LeBeau had the coffeepot set up. Newkirk mumbled a quick apology to LeBeau and pointedly ignored Kinch. 

Hochstetter's voice cut off any further conversation around the wooden table. "You had no right to transfer him, Klink. I want him returned." 

"Major, I…" 

"Now, Klink!" Hochstetter bellowed. "Before I have you sent to the Russian Front!" 

"That's enough." Burkhalter interrupted. "Klink had the authority to transfer Hogan." 

"Not when I'm in the middle of an interrogation!" 

"Interrogation?!" Klink's voice shook, either from fear or anger. "Is that what you call…" 

Burkhalter drowned out the Kommandant. "You won't break Hogan with your primitive methods, Major. Men like him require a more subtle approach." 

"I see." Hochstetter's sarcasm was barely restrained. " Please, go on, General. Explain the finer points of interrogation to me." 

"It's not enough to win territory, Hochstetter. You must be able to keep order after victory. To do that, you need collaborators such as Quisling in Norway and Petain in France. Or Hogan in America." 

"Hogan?" Klink and Hochstetter echoed each other. 

"You've said yourself, Klink, he's always been cooperative. Do you think you're responsible for the perfect record here?" Hochstetter laughed dryly. "Hogan was a reasonable man, sensible enough to know the difference between blind patriotism and the realities of power. Given time, I could have convinced him of the need to help his people by negotiating with Allied command. But after your brutality, all hope of that is gone." 

"Bah! Hogan is a saboteur. He should be executed, not coddled." 

"That is the trouble with you Gestapo. All you understand is brute force." 

"And that is the only thing that will stop an agent like Hogan." 

"He's not…" 

Hochstetter growled, silencing Klink. "I will deal with you all after I deal with Hogan." 

"I want him kept alive, Hochstetter." Burkhalter used his best command tone. "He still has value as a bargaining chip." 

"We will see what Berlin has to say about this." Hochstetter snapped off a 'Heil Hitler' and stormed from the office.

Kinch disconnected the coffeepot and the room fell into an awkward silence. 

"Well, I can tell you one thing, boy." Carter stammered. "Colonel Hogan would never have turned traitor. I don't care what they offered him." 

"Right." Kinch patted Carter's back. " He was just playing Burkhalter." 

"Oui." LeBeau nodded fervently. "I doubted mon Colonel once. I'll never do it again." 

"Well, it doesn't bloody matter now, does it?" 

"Newkirk…" Kinch exhaled loudly. "If Burkhalter does think he can turn the Colonel, we might be able to work something out with him." 

"Us?" Newkirk scoffed as he plopped onto his bunk. "He's not about to invite a bunch of corporals and sergeants to tea, now is he?" 

"No…" Kinch considered. "I don't think we can discount him though. I don't know the details, but I know the Colonel had some type of deal going with him." 

"Bloody charming." Newkirk flipped out his cards and dealt himself a hand of solitaire. It was what he always did when he needed to think, but today his mind refused to concentrate on the matter at hand. Instead he drifted back to the first time he'd spoken to Hogan. He'd been caught pilfering cigarettes and had been sent to the Colonel for disciplinary action. It was nothing new. He'd been called before headmasters, constables and commanding officers dozens of times. The previous Senior POW had made him stand at attention for hours, given him weeks of K.P. and taken away what few privileges they had. He'd expected pretty much the same from the new Yank Colonel, but he'd been in for a surprise.

"Scrounger, pickpocket, brawler." Hogan had grinned. "Can you crack a safe?" 

The question had left Newkirk speechless, as had the American's offer to join his staff. Rumors were already flying around the camp about their new commander. It was well known that he'd commandeered the services of a French chef to cook his meals. Newkirk supposed it made sense that the man would want his own personal scrounger. Officers were officers, after all. So he agreed to move to Barracks Two, figuring he'd find a way to work the situation to his advantage. He'd had no idea what he was getting himself into. 

"Maybe we can write to Colonel Hogan at his new camp and ask him what to do."

Newkirk rolled his eyes at the sheer idiocy of Carter's idea. The bloody fool was nothing more than a great puppy who lived to please his master. And now that his master was gone, someone would have to keep an eye on the kid. For the good of the cause, of course. After all, the little oaf was a good demolition expert and the more bridges they blew up, the sooner they all got to go home –assuming they still had an operation left. So it was only self-interest to keep an eye on Carter. 

Newkirk slid a card from one stack to another, eavesdropped on LeBeau's attempt to reassure Carter that somehow, someway Papa Bear would return to them and they'd carry on the fight. If Carter was Hogan's puppy, than LeBeau was surely his cat. The little Frenchman was fiercely loyal to their commander and was often the only one beside Kinch who could get anywhere near the temperamental American without getting court-martialed. That he was able to get Hogan to eat anything when he didn't feel well was often a major victory for the Allies. It was also now a vastly moot point.

His attention wandered to Kinch and their eyes met for an instant before the radioman glanced away. He and the black sergeant had disagreed on many things through the years, but they'd always agreed that Hogan needed protection from himself. They'd always tried – the two of them – to keep Papa Bear from walking into the lion's den. But when he needed them the most…. Newkirk shook his head. Klink would never have gotten past him to sedate the governor. Awake, Hogan would have been able to talk himself out of being transferred. But unconscious….

Newkirk cursed at the memory of Hogan's still body being carried to the truck and the door slamming loudly on the lives they'd made here. He wasn't fool enough to believe that things would be the same under a new officer. Oh, the operation might go on, but there was no guarantee that they'd be involved. A dark part of him was certain that Kinch's days as adjutant were numbered. He knew enough about the American army to know that Kinch only held his position under Hogan's sufferance. Without the Colonel to prop him up, he would return to obscurity.

Newkirk frowned as he realized that he and Kinch had more in common then he cared to admit. Without Hogan, he'd no doubt lose his positions as liaison for the R.A.F prisoners and as chief of security. He expected that he'd soon be relegated to his former role as camp scrounger and thief. Not that it mattered. He'd always known that his life after the war would be pretty much like it had been before Hitler --drifting from scheme to scheme, dodging the law, looking for that elusive opportunity that would finally get him off the streets. He regretted never having told Hogan….

"Damn!" Newkirk slammed down his cards. "We can't let Hochstetter get off scot-free. Not after what he did to the governor." 

"There's nothing we can do." Kinch addressed the floor. 

"That's not good enough." Newkirk crossed to stand over Kinch. "He didn't deserve what Hochstetter did do him." 

"I know." Kinch clenched his fists. "I'd gladly kill Hochstetter with my bare hands, but we'd jeopardize the whole operation." 

"We'll find a way." Newkirk considered. "I don't know how, I don't know when, but I know I won't leave this bloody country without setting things straight with Hochstetter. I owe the governor that much." 

"Oui." LeBeau joined the two. 

Newkirk turned expectantly to Kinch. 

Kinch glanced at Carter, who was staring blankly out the window. Probably watching for Hogan's miraculous return. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Ok, but just us three." 

Newkirk and LeBeau glanced at the young sergeant, nodded in agreement. 

"Come on, mates." Newkirk felt a sudden surge of energy. "I say we finish off the governor's whiskey before the new commander filches it." 

"Oui." LeBeau sighed. "I wish I could have told mon Colonel what an honor it was to be on his staff." 

"Me too. There are so many things…." Kinch smiled sadly. "Course, you know how he is. He wouldn't have wanted to hear any of it." 

"Andrew, stop looking out the bloody window and come have a drink with us. We're toasting the Colonel." 

"With his whiskey?" Carter shook his head. "We're not supposed to get into that." 

"Except for medicinal purposes." Newkirk laid his hand to his stomach. "I'm feeling rather poorly myself." 

"Oui." LeBeau imitated the gesture. "Come, Andre. Your stomach is upset too." 

"No, it's not. I haven't been sick since the Colonel gave me that shot." Carter followed his friends anyway. "Are you sure this is ok? What if he gets mad?" 

"He's not coming back, you idiot." 

"Yes, he is. I know he is." 

"Ok, guys." Kinch separated Newkirk and Carter. "If he comes back, we'll radio London for a priority drop." 

LeBeau handed out glasses of the contraband liquor. "To mon Colonel. Bon chance." 

"To the governor. May he enjoy the decadent delights of officer's territory." 

"To Papa Bear. May God protect him from his schemes." 

"To Colonel Hogan. Until he comes back." Carter gasped as he chugged his drink. "How does he drink this stuff? It's awful." 

"You better stick to beer, Carter." Kinch confiscated Carter's glass. "The last thing we need is a drunk explosives expert." 

"That'd be a sight. Rather like a Chaplin movie." Newkirk jumped as the door swung open and Klink barged in. 

"Achtung!" Langenscheidt hurried them all to their feet. "The Kommandant and the new Senior POW." 

Newkirk made a grab for the whiskey at the same time as LeBeau. The two only succeeded in knocking the bottle to the floor, where it rolled to Klinks' feet. 

"What's this?" Klink stepped around the growing puddle of liquor. "Alcohol is verboten. " 

"Uh, yes, sir." Newkirk suppressed a grin. "We were just getting rid of it, Kommandant." 

"I'm sorry, Major. I'm afraid Colonel Hogan wasn't very military." Klink waved an American officer into the room. "This is your quarters. These men were the previous Senior POW's staff. I'm sure they'll help you get settled." 

"His staff?" The Major scrutinized the enlisted men. 

"Yes. Sgt Kinchloe was his adjutant, Sgt Carter, Cpl LeBeau and Cpl Newkirk were his aides." Klink nodded to the men as he introduced him. "This is Major Anders, your new commander." 

Anders inspected the prisoners, halted in front of Kinch. "What nationality was this Hogan?" 

"American, like you." Klink rambled through the awkward silence. "He was from Cleveland, OH. He showed it to me on a map once. He said it was the garden spot of the Midwest and…" 

"Well, I'm not from O-hi-o. And this boy isn't going to be my adjutant." 

"Of course, you're free to choose your own staff. " Klink noted the open hostility on the faces of Hogan's men. "As I say, Hogan wasn't very military. In fact, he was such a bad chess player that I often wondered how…" 

"This Hogan played chess with you?" Anders rolled his eyes. "I suppose you discussed military strategy too?" 

"Only regarding the battles in the Pacific. Hogan had a young nephew who was MIA on Bataan. He was concerned about the conditions in Japanese POW camps." Klink gestured nervously. "As you can see, the Luftwaffe complies with the Geneva Convention." 

"We'll see." Anders considered the nearby prisoners. "Are these men all assigned to this barracks?" 

"Yes." Klink glanced about. " I believe so." 

"You must realize that the American Army is strictly segregated." Anders ignored the presence of Kinch and the other Negro prisoners. "As an officer, I'm entitled to be housed under conditions equivalent to those I'd have in my own country." 

"Of course. Colonel Hogan asked me to desegregate the barracks and to allow his non-American staff to stay with him. As I say, he was undisciplined and…" Klink forced himself back on topic. "You can reassign the men, Major. Just be sure that Sgt Schultz gets the barracks roster when he returns to camp." 

Anders nodded disinterestedly. 

"I'll let you get settled then." Klink mumbled, gestured for Hogan's men to come with him. He looked almost apologetic as he ordered them to return to their proper barracks. 

Newkirk stood next to Kinch, helplessly watched the proud adjutant transform into the silent, anonymous prisoner he'd been before Hogan's arrival. All the anger he'd felt for the man since Hogan's transfer dissolved, along with their operation. 

**** 

"Hey, look who's back!" 

"Lock up your cigarettes, everyone. Newkirk's come home to roost." 

"Very funny." Newkirk stomped into his old barracks, tossed his duffle bag onto an empty bunk. "I'm glad to see you all again too." 

"Did you scrounge any whiskey before you were exiled?" 

Newkirk shook his head, flopped onto his bed. He knew his RAF friends were just joking, but he wasn't in the mood. He'd lost his commander, his position and his barracks. His sense of humor had gone with them. 

"So what's the new Yank like?" A Scottish sergeant dragged his chair closer to Newkirk's bunk. "Is he as bad as they say?" 

"No. He's worse. Once word got out that he'd given Kinch the axe, every bastard in camp volunteered to join his staff." Newkirk yanked his cigarettes from his jacket. "And after all the trouble Kinch and I went through trying to keep those blighters in line." 

"Hogan should have had them transferred while he could." 

Newkirk glared away the comment, though he himself had often suggested the same to the Colonel. Hogan had refused, saying he could keep the miscreants under control. Maybe he could – with help from his aides – but that didn't change the fact that Anders' entire staff was now comprised of the few bigots that Hogan had battled from the first day of his command. Reason, pleas, discipline and threats had failed to convince the hostile minority that all Allied airman were created equal. The fragile coalition that the governor had nurtured for two years hadn't survived him by even one day. 

"Newkirk? Are you listening?" 

"Huh? What?" 

"I said, what about the 'no escape' rule? We made that promise to Hogan, not this new guy." 

"Right. I say all bets are off. No. Wait." Newkirk quickly amended himself. "Hang on a few days until we know what's up. We may still need Klink." 

"For what? The mission's over." 

"It's not over." Newkirk raised his voice above the chorus of dissent. "Colonel Hogan took his orders from London, mates. Anders will have to do the same. So unless you're willing to abandon all those civilians at home who are trying to survive the bloody blitz-krieg, you'll just shut your mouths and wait till we assess the situation." 

Nervous laughter and puzzled looks circulated throughout the room. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Peter 'What's-In-It-For-Me' Newkirk giving a lecture on loyalty." 

"Yeah, well…" Newkirk's attention was diverted by a timid knocking on the door. "Go the hell away, whoever you are!" 

The knocking ceased, resulting in more awkward laughter. Newkirk mumbled his way to the door and yanked it open. "What?!" 

"Nothing." Carter stammered as he backed away. 

"You're knocking on the door like a bleeding woodpecker for nothing?!" 

Carter nodded solemnly. 

Newkirk resisted the temptation to shake the idiot until his teeth rattled. He forced some of the anger from his voice. "What is it, Carter? What do you need?" 

"Some place to sleep." Carter peeked around his friend. "Do you have an extra bunk?" 

"You have to be RAF to stay here."

"Ok." 

"Ok, what?" 

"Ok, I'll join the RAF." Carter sighed loudly. "I don't like Major Anders and the guys he's brought into our barracks. They tell jokes my Mom and Colonel Hogan wouldn't like. Kinch said I'm too pale to stay in his new barracks. Louie said I could stay in the French barracks, but they're all getting drunk and singing the Marseillaise. So I don't mind joining the RAF if I can stay with you." 

"Carter…" Newkirk shook his head, aware of another round of laughter behind him. "You can't stay here, but I'll help you find a decent Yank barracks. One your Mum would approve of. " 

"Thanks." Carter followed Newkirk cheerfully. 

Newkirk muttered an acknowledgement, scanned the compound to see if Schultz had returned. He was stunned to see that the guard had been doubled around the wire and in front of the Kommandant's office. He stared at the military stance of those protecting Klink. It had been two years since Newkirk had seen such a serious display of force in the absence of the Gestapo. Hogan had been given practically unlimited access to the Kommandant and few of the guards had considered him more than an annoyance. Apparently Anders rated higher on the threat meter. 

"What's up?" Carter tugged on Newkirk's jacket. "Are you ok?" 

"Old Klink's gone Kraut on us." 

"Huh?" 

Newkirk pointed to the guards. "Looks like we're in a prison camp." 

"Oh." Carter considered. "Klink thinks we're going to try to escape now." 

"Or riot." Newkirk spotted his quarry, shouted for Schultz. 

The guard trudged to them. "No monkey business today. I'm too tired." 

"We don't want any trouble." Newkirk pointed at the added guards. "Looks like you're expecting some, though." 

"The new American Major." Schultz shook his head. "I wish the Gestapo would think he's a spy." 

"Never mind that." Newkirk drew Schultz aside. "Tell us what you've done with our Colonel." 

"Yeah." Carter chimed in. "Is he ok?" 

"Ja, ja. I took him to his new camp and turned him over to his new Kommandant. He's fine." 

"Well, what did he say?" Carter tugged eagerly on the guard's coat. "Did he give you a message for us?" 

"Nein, nein. He was asleep the whole time." Schultz waved away their protests. "I told his new Kommandant about his trouble with the Gestapo. He promised he'd get him a doctor if he needs one." 

"He promised." Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Come on, Carter. Next thing he'll be telling us that Hitler is giving back France." 

"Wait!" Carter caught Newkirk's arm. "What about … you know." 

"No, I don't know. What are…?" Newkirk nodded as he remembered his original mission. "Actually, we came to ask you a favor. Young Carter's Mum wouldn't approve of him sleeping in a snake's den." Newkirk offered Schultz a package of cigarettes. "We were hoping you could find him a barracks with a better class of people." 

Schultz waved away the cigarettes. "Nein." 

"Schultzie! The Kommandant doesn't care where you put people, just as long as the count comes out right." 

"Nein, I do not want your cigarettes. Ja, I will find Carter a new barracks." Schultz shrugged off Newkirk's look of surprise. "I promised Colonel Hogan I would take care of his boys while he's gone." 

"Well, I….That's truly nice of you Schultz. We owe you one. " Newkirk paused. "Wait a minute. I thought you said the governor never woke up." 

"He didn't. He helped my son out of some trouble a while ago and I promised that if anything ever happened to him I'd take care of you four." Schultz waved away their questions. "Come, Carter. The prisoners in Barracks Seven are good boys who aren't involved in any monkey business. The barracks guard is Corporal Virdon. He's old enough to be your grandfather." 

"Thanks, Schultz." Carter crossed his heart solemnly. "You won't be sorry. No, sir. I won't cause any trouble. Not even a little." 

Newkirk waved Carter a quick good-bye, than drifted towards the Negro barracks. He stood uncertainly before Kinch's new building. The camp had been segregated before Hogan's arrival and Newkirk hadn't given it a second thought. It had been the way of the world and he'd learned early not to fuss over things that couldn't be changed. But now….he shook his head decisively as he knocked. The world was the world and there was nothing to be done about it.

The door was opened a crack by a nervous private. He sighed in relief as he recognized Newkirk and gestured the man inside. Newkirk quickly scanned the barracks. He was prepared for the fear, anger and resignation on the faces of the prisoners, but not for the sight of Kinch lying on his bunk staring at the ceiling. No book, no uncoded message, no notepad -- just Kinch and the ceiling. 

"What do you want, Newkirk?" 

"We need to talk." Newkirk gestured towards the door. "Can we go outside?" 

"Too dark in here for you?" 

"Kinch!" Newkirk was shocked by the bitterness in the radioman's voice. "We need to talk about the operation." 

"There is no operation anymore. It's gone to Poland." 

"I know, but I have a plan." Newkirk squatted beside Kinch's bunk, lowered his voice. "Listen to me. Why did Klink send the governor away? To get him away from Hochstetter, right? So we get rid of Hochstetter, Klink brings back the Colonel and ships out Anders. Then we go back to saving the world from the Crazy Corporal's Third Reich. Simple, huh?" 

"Sure. Simple as rolling off a log in front of a firing squad." 

"Ok. Fine. You don't like my idea, come up with one of your own." Newkirk waited for a brilliant idea, plowed on in the heavy silence. "Come on, Kinch. It hasn't even been a full day and Louie's getting drunk, Carter's moping for the Colonel and you're wallowing in self-pity. What kind of flipping team are we?" 

Newkirk paused hopefully for a response. He was about to give up and leave when Kinch laughed softly. 

"What's so funny?" 

"The team pessimist giving a pep talk." Kinch slowly sat up. "Never thought I'd live long enough to hear that." 

"Yeah, well don't get used to it. This being optimistic is giving me a headache." 

"We can't have that." Kinch headed for the door, caught Newkirk in his wake. "Come on. Let's go discuss this plan of yours." 

* * * * 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Newkirk caught himself from sliding on a patch of ice. 

"No." 

"Marvelous." Newkirk hurried to keep up with Kinch's determined strides. "Aren't you supposed to be the sensible one in the group?" 

"If sensible won't work, try something outrageous. I learned that from…" 

"Never mind. I know exactly where you learned that." Newkirk paused as they approached the Russian barracks. A group of prisoners was intent on building a snowman. Several more were idly tossing a baseball back and forth. Sasha sat by the door, casually strumming a primitive balalaika. "Plenty of sentries today. What do you think our Red friends are up to?"

"Nothing that would make the Colonel happy, I'm sure." Kinch headed for the balalaika player, found his most diplomatic tone of voice. "Zdrastvuyte, Sasha." 

"Welcome, Comrades. What brings you to Moscow-on-the-Rhine?" Sasha leaned back in his chair, tapped on the barracks wall. "You are not delivering a message from Comrade Colonel, as he is probably dead by now." 

"I just talked to Schultz. He's safe at his new camp." 

Sasha waved away Newkirk's assurance. "So the fat one says, but I do not believe everything I am told by the enemy. When the Germans take a Soviet officer away, we do not expect to see him again. But then, Soviet officers do not make friends with prison guards." 

Kinch bit back his retort, gestured for Newkirk to do the same. "Look, Sasha… I know we don't always see eye-to-eye, but we are both on the same side. " 

"For the time being, at any rate." Sasha turned his attention to his balalaika. "We saw the Negroes herded into separate barracks like animals. I do not believe you have any love for this new American Major, Comrade Kinchloe." 

"No. That's really why we came to see you. We think we have a plan to get rid of Anders and bring back Colonel Hogan, but we need your help."

"Oh? Perhaps I have plans of my own." 

"Look, you lousy …" 

"Newkirk." Kinch forced away his own frustration. He wished for the hundredth time that he had Hogan's talent for charming – or conning – people into seeing his point of view. "Sasha, we want to take Hochstetter out of the game, but it can't look like an Underground operation. It has to look like he died in a military attack." 

"Ah." Sasha feigned sudden inspiration. "Perhaps an advance patrol of Russian paratroopers invades Gestapo headquarters and the Major dies a hero's death?" 

"Exactly!" Newkirk nodded eagerly. "Will you help us?" 

Sasha shrugged. "What does Moscow care if Hochstetter lives or dies?" 

"Why you…" 

"Newkirk!" Kinch pushed his volatile friend away from the Russian. "Listen, Sasha – Moscow couldn't care less about Hochstetter, but you do." 

"I do?" 

"Yes, you do." Kinch drew closer, heedless of the 'alert status' of the gathering Russian prisoners. "You care because Hogan saved your life. And you care because he tries to represent the Russian prisoners when he talks to Klink. You care because you've figured out by now that the only thing Anders likes less than Negros is commies. And you care because that tunnel you've got your men digging is going through meters and meters of sand and it keeps collapsing. You know and I know that the only way this place is going to be tolerable is if we do whatever it takes to get Hogan back here." 

Newkirk held his breath as Kinch finished his plea. Sasha glanced from the American to the Briton, finally conferred with his men in Russian. It was an agonizing few minutes before Sasha returned his attention to his visitors. "Da, Comrades – we care about Hogan. Even though we think he is Klink's lackey and he is probably dead by now, we prefer him to this new American. We will be your mysterious Soviet commandos." 

"Thanks." Kinch sighed in relief. "We've got to talk to the Underground, find out a good time. We'll get back to you as soon as we can." 

"Da. We will be here." Sasha smirked. "Perhaps." 

"You'll be here." Kinch chuckled softly. "We've tried digging at this end of camp. It's tunnel a foot and clean up the cave-in, tunnel a foot and clean up the cave-in. You'll never make it to the treeline." 

"Perhaps." Sasha returned to his music. "Comrade Kinchloe, your Colonel did not teach you everything he knows. When he goes to ask favors of the fat guard, he takes chocolate. When he comes begging to Moscow-on-the Rhine, he brings Vodka." 

"Sorry, comrade. I'll get right on that." Kinch tossed off a mock salute, grinned as they left the area. "As you always say, Newkirk –piece of cake." 

"Assuming we can trust him." 

"I think we can." Kinch shrugged. "We don't really have much choice." 

"Charming." 

"Now all we need is some kind of diversion to keep the guards busy while our comrades sneak out of camp." 

"Oh, is that all we need?" Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Why don't we invite Hitler in for tea? That'd cause quite the stir. Or we could…" 

"What's going on over there?" 

"Where?" Newkirk followed Kinch's gaze, saw Carter huddled in discussion with a half-dozen men. "Just Carter rambling, as usual. What's the problem?" 

"Nothing." Kinch shook his head. "Guess I'm just seeing boogey-men in all the shadows lately." 

"Hmmm." Newkirk studied the men surrounding Carter. As far as he could see, it was just a group of Yanks talking. It clearly was more to Kinch. 

"Hey, Kinch!" Carter waved them over. "These guys have been looking for you." 

Kinch reluctantly joined the group, followed by a curious Newkirk. 

"Sgt Kinchloe." One of Carter's companions held out his hand. "Sgt Jackson, Amarillo, Texas." 

"Sgt." Kinch took the man's hand hesitantly. "What can I do for you?" 

"Just wanted you to know…" Jackson indicated his friends and gestured vaguely at the nearest barracks. "There's at least two dozen of us good Southerners loyal to Hogan. We don't have anything to do with those yahoos over in Barracks Two. So whatever your plan is, count us in." 

"Plan?" Kinch exchanged confused looks with Newkirk. "What makes you think we have a plan?" 

"You have to." Carter grinned cheerfully. "You always do." 

"Uh… I appreciate the vote of confidence, Carter, but I really don't have anything in mind." Kinch paused, considered the volunteers. "Though I if did come up with something and maybe needed a diversion…" 

"You call us." Jackson jerked his thumb at himself and his friends. "Hogan's alright for an officer. And a northern boy. You come up with a way to get him back, we'll be there." 

"Thanks." Kinch stared at the men as they drifted off. "I guess the Colonel's right – never assume a dog's rabid." 

"So how are we going to get the Colonel back?" Carter obediently lowered his voice at a signal from Newkirk. "Well?" 

"We don't have any plan, Carter." Kinch scanned the compound automatically. "Why don't you two do a perimeter check? I think I'll go sober up Louie." 

"To help with your plan?" 

"There is no plan!" Kinch and Newkirk shouted in unison. 

"Jeez." Carter followed Newkirk as Kinch headed for the French barracks. "Must be some plan." 

* * * * 

Newkirk inventoried the scattered contents of Carter's lab. He gingerly filled the pockets of his overcoat with grenades and was about to tuck some dynamite under his shirt when he heard footsteps. He froze, instinctively held his breath. 

"Hey! What are you doing with my stuff?!" 

"Carter!" Newkirk growled at the intruder. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on someone who's holding explosives?" 

"But that's my stuff." Carter reached for Newkirk's coat. "Give it back." 

"Keep your paws to yourself." Newkirk ducked out of reach. "And keep your voice down. Do you want the Major down here?" 

"You have no right in my lab." Carter did his best to whisper. "Colonel Hogan put me in charge of the explosives." 

"I'm not after your bloody job." Newkirk gestured at the metal boxes stacked nearby. "Help me find some good noisemakers and I'll explain everything once we're outside." 

"Oh, alright." Carter tugged a pair of backpacks from a footlocker. "Here. You're going to blow yourself up carrying grenades like that." 

"Fine time to be telling me, mate." Newkirk cautiously transferred the contents of his pockets into the backpack.

"How much do you need?" Carter filled his own pack and tucked it under his jacket.

"I think this should do nicely. Come on." Newkirk led the way through the tunnel. "And don't clomp like a bull moose or trip over your feet." 

"A moose does not clomp. I…" 

"Carter!" Newkirk hissed a warning, quietly headed for the entrance to the cooler. He pushed aside the stone opening and crawled into the empty building. 

"Ok." Carter clambered after Newkirk. "Now can you tell me what's going on?" 

Newkirk slid the secret entrance closed and double-checked to make sure they were alone. "First you tell me what you were doing roaming around down there." 

"I saw Schultz bring you in here so I asked him what you did to get in trouble and he said you just wanted to come in here to be alone so I figured you were going to use this entrance to get into the tunnel without Major Anders knowing and so I said to myself, "Andrew, why is Newkirk going down there" and…" 

"Ok, ok. I get it." 

"Pretty smart, huh?" 

"You're a ruddy genius. So how much did you have to pay old Schultzie to get in here?" 

"Two candy bars. How about you?" 

"That and half a pack of cigarettes." Newkirk sighed as he rearranged his pack. "This war is getting expensive." 

"Yeah." Carter caught Newkirk's arm as he prepared to leave. "You promised to tell me what you're doing." 

"Had my fingers crossed." 

"Newkirk." 

"Carter." Newkirk sighed in resignation. "Ok. We're going out on a mission that we hope is going to help us get the governor back. That's all I can tell you. And no, you can't come along." 

"But I'm part of the team. Colonel Hogan said so." Carter glanced away. "It's because I always do something dumb, isn't it? I try really hard to do everything right, but…" 

"This isn't about you, Carter. You're a regular maestro when it comes to explosives. We just thought…." Newkirk consulted his watch. "Oh, hell. I'm on schedule here. I don't suppose you'll be a good little chap and forget all about this?" 

Carter shook his head. 

"Then you're going to have to come along and talk to Kinch. Maybe he can get through that thick skull of yours." 

"Ok." Carter hurried after Newkirk. "I mean ok about coming, not ok about Kinch talking me out of it because if you're using explosives than you really need me because…" 

Newkirk ignored the rambling behind him, peered outside the building to make sure the coast was clear. "Psst. Schultz. Has the Fuhrer been by lately?" 

"Very funny." Schultz scanned the area, waved the prisoners outside. "I thought you two needed to be alone to think." 

"We did, but we're all thought out." Newkirk adjusted his coat over the pack. "We've come up with the meaning of life, the universe and everything." 

"Jolly jokers." Schultz pointed to the rows of barracks. "Now get inside before curfew and no funny business from either of you. "

"Us? Get into trouble?" Newkirk scoffed as he passed Schultz. "A decent man gets no respect around here these days." 

"Yeah!" Carter slipped after his friend. "Jeez!" 

Newkirk skirted the groups of prisoners, kept to the shadows as much as possible. 

"Where are we going?" Carter shrugged off Newkirk's silence, concentrated on blending into the background. "Hey! Are we doing a mission with the Russians?" 

"You're not doing a mission with anyone." Newkirk tapped on the door to Sasha's barracks, quickly entered with his uninvited guest. 

"What's this?" Kinch frowned at the newcomers. 

"This is an Andrew Carter." Newkirk yanked off his coat. "He snuck up on me when I was commandeering his bloody explosives." 

"I'm the demolitions expert. If you're blowing something up, I should be there." 

"We don't have time for this." Kinch tossed Newkirk a Soviet uniform. "Look, Carter, we're not acting on orders from London. This is a freelance operation." 

"So that means I'm free to go." 

"It does not. This doesn't involve you." 

"If it involves Colonel Hogan, it involves me."

"Take him or shoot him." LeBeau mumbled from a nearby table. "Just do it quietly." 

"What's wrong with Louie?" Carter considered the Frenchman, who had his head buried in his hands. "Why are you guys all wearing Russian uniforms?" 

"It's all the fashion on Saville Row these days." Newkirk fidgeted by the door. "We're wasting time." 

"Jackson." Kinch turned to the Texan. "Are you all set?" 

"One riot, coming up." Jackson grinned and slipped from the barracks. 

"Louie, are you ok?" Kinch considered the Frenchman. "Maybe you should sit this one out." 

"I'm fine." LeBeau pulled himself to his feet, straightened his Soviet uniform. 

"Take more than a flipping hangover to keep him down, eh, mon ami?" 

"Oui." LeBeau massaged his temples. "I've been fighting the filthy Bosch longer than any of you. I could do it in my sleep." 

"Ok." Kinch signaled for Sasha and his men to move out. He grabbed a Soviet jacket and cap from a bunk, tossed them at Carter. 

"Are you sure about that?" Newkirk indicated Carter. 

"Safer than having him follow us and then having to rescue him." Kinch caught Carter's arm. "You do what I say, when I say." 

Carter nodded adamantly. "What's the score?" 

"We're going after Hochstetter." Kinch led their small group towards the wire. 

"We're capturing him and sending him to London?" Carter bent to help Newkirk with the sliding fence. 

Kinch glanced from LeBeau to Newkirk, than back to Carter. "Yeah, Andrew. Something like that." 

* * * * 

Newkirk crept through the smoky halls of Gestapo headquarters, every sense alert for trouble. He jumped as he felt a hand on his back. 

"There." Carter whispered. "That's Hochstetter's office." 

"Right." Newkirk peeked into the room, gave Carter the all-clear signal. "Make sure there's nothing left of those records, especially not the Colonel's file." 

"You got it, boy." Carter hurriedly set a demolition pack beside the filing cabinet that housed the documents starting with 'H'. "Ok –let's get out of here." 

"I do not think so. " Hochstetter rounded a corner, his revolver aimed at Newkirk's chest. "Drop the weapons and the detonator." 

"Oh, blimey…" Newkirk slid his gun to the floor, gestured for Carter to follow suit. He remembered his cover too late, rambled incoherently in pseudo-Russian. 

"The charade is pointless. It's obvious you're an Englander." Hochstetter knocked Newkirk's cap from his head. "I believe I have seen you before." 

"Really? You know, people say that to me all the time. You'd be amazed at how many folks mistake me for …" 

"You are one of Hogan's men." Hochstetter gestured for Carter to remove his cap. "Who are you?" 

"Me?" Carter swallowed nervously. "Boris…uh…Ivan…" 

"Enough. You are clearly American." Hochstetter took a step back, his revolver unwavering. "Another of Hogan's men." 

"Hogan?" Newkirk shook his head. "Don't know any Hogan, mate." 

"We shall see. I will take you to that idiot Klink to identify and then I will execute you myself." 

"No, you won't." LeBeau slid from the shadows. "Drop the gun." 

"Don't be ridiculous." Hochstetter waved his weapon at Newkirk's heart. "Shoot me and your friend dies." 

"And then you die." Kinch brandished his rifle at Hochstetter. "Go ahead, shoot Newkirk. You'll be dead before your finger leaves the trigger." 

Hochstetter studied the four men surrounding him, listened vainly for the arrival of his own men. "At the moment you seem to have the upper hand. I surrender." 

"Don't bother looking for your men. They've all been killed or captured." Kinch disarmed the Gestapo agent, handed the revolver to Carter. "On your knees." 

Hochstetter growled as he complied. "Release me now or I promise you I'll hunt down Hogan and personally make his life a living hell." 

"You won't be doing anything, you filthy Bosch animal." LeBeau put his gun next to Hochstetter's head. "Comprendre?" 

The agent laughed darkly. "You don't have the nerve." 

"I wouldn't bet all you money on that, mate." Newkirk joined LeBeau. "You shouldn't have mistreated our Colonel. We take care of our own." 

"Carter." Kinch gave the young sergeant a push towards the exit. "Go make sure Sasha and DuBois have everything under control outside." 

"Ok." Carter backed from the area. "What about blowing the file cabinets?" 

"I'll handle it." Kinch gave Carter a commanding look. "Go on." 

Newkirk, LeBeau and Kinch held their positions until Carter was out of sight, then formed a half-circle around Hochstetter. 

"I see. Now that the boy is gone, you shoot me." Hochstetter shook his head. "There are more of us than you can imagine. Kill me and a dozen more will take my place." 

"And we'll hunt them all down until your bloody Master Race is extinct." 

"Oui. At least you will bring no more pain into the world." 

"You'll never touch Colonel Hogan again. That's all that matters." 

"Kinch!" Carter doubled back to his friend, placed his hand on his shoulder. "You can't." 

Kinch shook off the young man. "I told you to get out of here." 

"No." Carter glanced from one man to another. "He's a prisoner. The Geneva Convention.." 

"Get out of here, you ruddy fool." Newkirk's gun never wavered. "You saw what he did to the governor. He's not leaving this building alive." 

"But revenge is wrong." Carter slowly worked his way between Hochstetter and his friends. "It's bitter comfort –that's what my Mom always says. It makes you as bad as the person who hurt you." 

"Andre, we are not interested in your mother right now. Move out of the way before you get hurt." 

"No." Carter planted his feet and crossed his arms across his chest. "Colonel Hogan says you never kill a prisoner. "

"Don't go righteous on us, Carter. Your bombs have killed dozens of people." 

"I know, but this is different." Carter's voice shook. "Colonel Hogan says a soldier kills when he has to, shows mercy when he can. We're supposed to be here to fight the Master Race, not to …" 

"…be the Master Race." Kinch took a deep breath, raised his rifle. "On your feet, Major. You're going to London." 

"Are you crazy?" Newkirk yanked Carter away from Hochstetter. "You know how much blood is on that bastard's hands. How can you…" 

"He'll stand trial after the war. The Allies will see that he pays for his crimes." Kinch signaled for Carter to tie the agent's hands. "I'm sorry we don't have any chains handy, Major. I know you always enjoy using them on your prisoners." 

"Bah." Hochstetter glared at his captors. "You are all as weak as your pathetic leader. The next time I have Hogan on his knees…" 

"Gag him, Carter." Kinch matched Hochstetter's glare with his own. 

"Oui. And don't be too gentle." LeBeau issued a curse in French. 

Newkirk yanked Hochstetter to his feet. "Come on and don't do anything clever. I'm still in a mind to put a bullet through your bloody head." 

"Newkirk." Carter started after the man, but was stopped by Kinch.

"It's alright. Newkirk's back to normal." Kinch smiled gently. "We all are –thanks to you." 

"You're not mad?" Carter bit his lip nervously. "I guess you guys all hate me now, but…" 

"No one hates you, Andre." LeBeau patted Carter's shoulder. "You did the right thing. I'll forgive you….tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow? But…" 

Kinch chuckled as LeBeau helped Newkirk with their prisoner. "Don't worry, Carter. No one hates you. You kept us from falling to Hochstetter's level. I'm proud of you." 

"Really?" Carter beamed. "You're proud of me?" 

"Yup. And more importantly, Papa Bear is going to be proud of you." Kinch directed Carter towards the detonator. "Speaking of the Colonel – it's time to blow those files. Make sure there's nothing left but ashes." 

"You got it, boy. Uh, sir. Uh, Kinch. " Carter grabbed the detonator, happily followed his orders. 

* * * *


	4. Hogan

Hogan stared at the wall by his bunk. The wood grain formed patterns which – depending on his mood – resembled either an exploding bomb or a pit of quick sand. He wasn't sure how long he'd been evaluating the swirls and squiggles. He'd lost all concept of time since arriving at his new stalag. 

He shifted in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position. His stomach, his ribs, his back, his head…everything ached. Even that would be endurable, but the trembling, the nightmares, the sudden flashbacks were driving him to the edge. Every staff car driving through the gate, every door that was flung open, every heavy footstep in the night was Hochstetter returning for him. 

He flipped onto his back and inventoried the water spots on the ceiling. With no command, no operation and no Klink to annoy, he had nothing to do but think about Hochstetter. Oh, he'd reported to Colonel Spivey as soon as he'd regained consciousness and accepted that he wasn't dreaming, but Stalag 13's no escape record had preceded him. Spivey suspected him of being a collaborator, a mole or both and made it quite clear that he had no need of his services. His injuries meant nothing – any loyal Nazi would suffer a little pain for his Fuhrer and without dog tags or insignia Hogan couldn't even prove he was a colonel. He'd tried to explain that a Kraut spy wouldn't be stupid enough to show up without the proper ID, but Spivey had lost interest in the subject.

He'd written a note to Stalag 13: "Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here." That one obligation discharged, he'd had plenty of time to stare at the walls and recall every humiliating moment he'd spent with Hochstetter. One miserable night he'd even written to Klink: "Having a lousy time. Wish I were there." But he'd destroyed the letter as the sun came up. 

Conditions at Stalag 3 weren't particularly bad. Kommandant Braune allowed him the privileges of his disputed rank so he had his own room. The young lieutenants who were housed in his barracks treated him with a detached respect, hedging their bets in case he actually was on their side. One of them – a quiet spoken Kentuckian named Lynch – had apparently appointed himself his keeper and notified him of meals and roll call. 

So he dragged himself off his bunk twice a day to be duly counted and then retreated to his post to ponder the water stains and to analyze the patterns on the walls. And to wonder what Hochstetter was doing and who he was doing it to. Images of his men suffering at the bastard's hands constantly intruded on his thoughts. 

He rolled back onto his side, fought desperately for control. That Hochstetter had broken his ribs was tolerable, but he'd be damned if he'd let him break his spirit too. And if he touched just one of his boys….

The shriek of an air raid siren interrupted his thoughts. From the other room he could hear the lieutenants hitting the floor, but he didn't move. Whether he died in his bunk or under it made little difference to him. Nor did he particularly care that the sound of the Soviet army advancing towards the camp grew louder every day. The Reds may be their allies, but he didn't necessarily want to be liberated by them. Not, he supposed, that it mattered one way or another any more. Nothing really mattered since Hochstetter.

"All clear!" An excited voice called out as the alarm died out. "False alarm!" 

Hogan traced the pattern of the exploding bomb etched in the wall while half-listening to the prisoners next door getting to their feet and brushing themselves off. He could almost imagine their chagrined looks as they tried to convince themselves they hadn't been scared. 

"It's all over, Hopkins. Come on out." 

"It was just a false alarm. It's ok." 

Over the chatter next door, Hogan thought he could hear someone whimpering. Probably just one of the boys with a case of nerves, but still…. He was on his feet before he realized it. He shook his head in disgust. He'd be running on instinct two weeks after they buried him. 

He slipped out of his room and stood silently evaluating the situation. One of the lieutenants was cowering under a bunk while a half dozen of the others tried to talk him out. As far as he could tell, they were only succeeding in driving the frightened man further under the bed. 

"Ok, fellas. Give him some air." Hogan waved everyone away from the bunk. "What's his name?" 

"Hopkins, sir." Lynch lowered his voice. "He had a rough landing. Parachuted into Berlin and was nearly beaten to death by civilians. They killed his co-pilot." 

Hogan nodded and knelt beside the bunk. "Come on out, son. It's all over." 

Hopkins mumbled, but showed no sign of moving.

"That's an order, Lt Hopkins." Hogan tugged on the airman's arm. "On the double." 

"Yes, sir…" Hopkins stammered as he struggled to regain control. "Sorry, sir… I don't know. …the siren…" 

"It's alright. Take it easy." Hogan pulled the man from his niche. His ribs protested as he suddenly found himself with an armful of Hopkins. The man had to be Kinch's size at least and thirty pounds heavier. Not the type of person one expected to find hiding under his bunk. "Lynch, bring me my winter coat." 

Lynch retrieved the garment and attempted to wrap it around Hopkins. 

Hogan shook his head. "Someone from my old camp tucked something in the lining. I've been waiting for an emergency to open it." 

Lynch shot him a quizzical look, then grinned as he felt a bump within the coat. He carefully cut through the stitches while the others looked on and Hopkins clung to Hogan. "Looks like some good Kentucky medicine, sir." 

"I thought so." Hogan took the flask, wrapped Hopkins hands around it. "Drink up, Lt." 

"Is there anything else in there?" Hogan managed to prop Hopkins against the bunk, to the immense relief of his ribs. 

"Uh, yes, sir…." Lynch grinned as he pulled a rabbit's foot from the lining. 

"Carter!" Hogan shook his head at the curious and amused faces around him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." 

"That's alright, Colonel." Lynch glanced behind him. "You should see what McCoy carries for luck." 

"Shut up, Lynch." McCoy poked the man in the back. 

"Make me." Lynch playfully took a boxer's pose. 

Hogan winced as he pulled himself to his feet. The sham fight instantly broke up. 

"Are you alright, sir?" 

"Can I help you, Colonel?" 

Hogan waved away the chorus of concern. He nodded at Hopkins, who was growing calmer as the flask grew lighter. "You fellas see that he gets into bed." 

"Right, sir." Lynch handed over the rabbit's foot with a smirk. "Better hide this. It wouldn't do for the Krauts to find it. Could change the whole outcome of the war." 

Hogan growled a reply and did his best to make a dignified exit. 

"Good night, Colonel." 

"Pleasant dreams, sir." 

"Let us know if you need anything, Colonel." 

Hogan eased himself onto his bunk and tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his side. He inventoried water spots until he slipped into a restless sleep. 

* * * * 

"Ten minutes to roll call, sir." 

"Thanks, Lynch." Hogan dragged himself from under his blanket. He'd been awake for some time, listening to the predawn artillery barrage as the front inched closer. 

"Uh…it's McCoy, sir." The pilot stood hesitantly in the doorway. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if you don't mind." 

"Sure." Hogan attempted to finger-comb his hair. "What can I do for you?" 

"Well, sir…I wanted to apologize…. " McCoy faltered, started over. "I'm the barracks chief and I…the fellas all feel bad for….well, we should have…" 

Hogan cut off the embarrassed man. "I think I know what you've trying to say, but no apologies are necessary. You're right to be cautious until Colonel Spivey clears me." 

"Well, that's just it, sir – we weren't being cautious. We all know you're not a spy." 

"Oh?" Hogan considered his visitor. "What makes you so sure?" 

"Well, uh…" 

"Go ahead, Lt. I'm interested." 

"Well, it's just that you talk in your sleep. Every night it's the same thing – name, rank and serial number." McCoy glanced at his feet. "We knew after the first night that Spivey was wrong about you, but none of us wanted to go against him." 

"Well, that still makes sense. You won't help your careers any associating with a spy." 

"No Kraut spy would have helped Hopkins last night." 

"A good one would have." Hogan grinned. "To win your trust." 

McCoy shrugged. "All I know is our barracks stands together, so whatever you need, you just ask." 

"Thanks, Lt. I'll keep that in mind." Hogan reached for his jacket. "I am curious, though. Why is Lynch so sure Spivey is wrong about me?" 

McCoy chuckled. "It wouldn't matter to Lynch if you are a spy. He'd still see that you ate. That's just who he is." 

"Oh. Good thing I'm not a spy then." Hogan winked as he headed for the door. "Time to stand up and be counted, isn't it?" 

"Uh. Yes, sir." McCoy followed Hogan outside, flashed an 'ok' sign at Lynch and the others as he passed through the barracks. 

Hogan scanned the perimeter as he took his place in line. The Soviets weren't in sight yet, but –judging by the sounds of battle – they couldn't be more than a few miles away. He considered approaching Spivey about the need for a contingency plan, but he doubted the man would be interested in his views. Still, he looked for the senior POW and noticed him talking to Kommandant Braune. And General Burkhalter. "Lynch." 

"Sir?" Lynch stepped forward from his place directly behind Hogan. 

"See the general with Braune? Ever seen him before?" 

"No, sir." Lynch dutifully studied Burkhalter. "Can't say as I have." 

"How about anyone else?" Hogan surveyed the line. "Anyone recognize that Kraut general?" 

McCoy spoke above the chorus of 'no's. "Something wrong, Colonel?" 

"No. Probably not." Hogan tugged his cap down and his collar up in a half-hearted attempt to stay out of sight. "He's the head of the Luftwaffe. I've seen him at Stalag 13, but it doesn't make sense for him to be this far from Berlin." 

"Well, maybe…" 

"Achtung!" Kommandant Braune walked briskly to the center of the compound. "By order of the Fuhrer, all prisoners are to be moved immediately to the safety of a stalag within Germany. You will have twenty minutes to gather your belongings and return to formation. There are no exceptions. Dismissed." 

"Is he serious?" 

"What's going on?"

" How are we getting to Germany?" 

Hogan ignored the chatter. "You heard him, men. Get moving. We need to get food, water, medical supplies. On the double." 

"But, sir…." McCoy demanded his attention. "How do they think they're going to move this whole camp? They don't have enough vehicles to…" 

Hogan shook his head. "The only way they're evacuating this place in twenty minutes is on foot." 

"But…" McCoy caught Hogan's no-nonsense expression. "Right, sir. I'll get on those medical supplies." 

"Send runners to the other barracks. Everyone has to carry as much food and water as possible." Hogan didn't wait for McCoy's affirmative as he started across the compound. "Colonel Spivey!" 

"Hogan!" 

Hogan tried to ignore the summons, but it was repeated. With a sigh, he turned to face Burkhalter. "General." 

"Report to the Kommandant. He'll arrange transportation for you." 

"Back to Stalag 13?" 

"To Stalag 7." Burkhalter dismissed Hogan's protest. "The Soviets are less than 20 kilometers away. There isn't time to arrange for trucks to carry everyone. The prisoners will have to walk to the train station in Spremburg. " 

"Then I'll walk to the train station in Spremburg." 

"Don't be a fool." Burkhalter lowered his voice. "Klink told me about your injuries. You won't survive the march." 

Hogan gestured at the thousands of men scurrying to gather their meager belongings. "Neither will some of them. Why don't you let the Soviets liberate us and let them do the worrying?" 

" I doubt that you are truly eager to be at the mercy of Stalin." Burkhalter glanced in the direction of the battle. "Regardless, the Fuhrer has ordered all British and American airmen behind the lines. Immediately." 

"To be used as hostages." 

"To be protected, as required by the Geneva Convention, until the Soviets have been destroyed." Burkhalter gestured away the topic. "Time is short. Report to the Kommandant." 

"Thanks, but I'll walk." Hogan tossed off a salute. "General." 

"Hogan, wait." Burkhalter checked for eavesdroppers. "There's no reason for you to be a martyr. Your people will need understanding leaders once the Allies surrender." 

"I'm willing to be cooperative, General. Just as soon as you get me back to Stalag 13." 

Burkhalter shook his head. "Impossible." 

"Then I'll see you at Stalag 7." Hogan grinned as he headed towards his barracks. "Unless the Soviets see you first." 

* * * * 


	5. Klink

The chess board preserved the moves of their last game, the one they'd been playing before Hochstetter arrived. Klink solemnly moved his bishop into a kill zone to bait Hogan into leaving his queen unprotected. He played for the absent American, sure that he could predict the man's rash response. Mate was his within one move. 

"Herr Kommandant." Schultz joined him, stood at attention. "Time for roll call." 

"Ja. One moment." Klink contemplated the board, knocked over his own king. "Stalemate, Colonel." 

"He would like that, Herr Kommandant." Schultz absently gathered Hogan's fallen pieces. "Do you suppose Major Anders is better at chess than Colonel Hogan?" 

"I'll never know." Klink gathered his cap and his riding crop. " Let's get this over with." 

"Jawohl." Schultz quickly returned Hogan's pieces to their own territory. "I'm coming." 

Klink stomped onto his porch, where two of his guards fell into position beside him, rifles at the ready. As they marched across the compound to the formation of prisoners, Klink found himself trying to recall how and when he'd gotten so lax about security. Hogan had drifted in and out of his office, had been a frequent visitor to his private quarters, had even accompanied him into town on occasion. He couldn't recall his previous Senior POW having such carte blanche. He glanced at Anders, who returned a venomous stare. Certainly this man would never be allowed near him without an armed escort. 

"All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant." Sgt Kurtz saluted briskly. 

"Dismissed. " Klink nodded at the burly guard. So many things --- large and small—had changed in the past few days. It surprised him how quickly Schultz had reassigned Langenscheidt from barracks two to Sgt Kinchloe's building. In fact, Schultz had quickly and efficiently shuffled all of the inexperienced, old or battle-fatigued guards to 'safer' positions and posted the most military soldiers around Anders and the office. Klink found himself wondering how long Schultz had been assigning only 'tame' guards to Hogan's barracks. And why he'd never questioned the personnel assignments before. But for the moment, he had more important matters to deal with. "Major Anders, you will report to my office after roll call." 

Anders barely acknowledged him, didn't even deign to question the reason for the summons. Klink pushed away his anger as he continued to the next barracks. He was tempted to toss the man into the cooler until he learned some respect, but the camp was on the verge of exploding and he didn't want to be the one to light the fatal match. He inventoried the damage to the camp from the previous evening's riot – broken windows, graffiti, trash scattered about the compound. It could have been much worse, if Hogan's men hadn't ultimately broken things up. As far as he could tell, Anders had been amused by the whole episode. 

How the riot had started, he still hadn't been able to discover, but it didn't surprise him. Arguments between the nationalities and the races had been constant since Hogan's departure. The cooler would soon be filled to capacity. 

"Morning, Schultzie. Beautiful day, isn't it?" 

"Shh. There's no talking in line." 

Klink sighed as Schultz chided the airman like a kindly uncle. He would have to give his staff a lecture on fraternizing with the prisoners. It was time they became a military installation again. Beginning now. "Sgt. Carter." 

"Yes, Kommandant?" The American smiled innocently at his captor. 

"You seem very cheerful this morning." In fact, Klink noted, Hogan's young aide hadn't smiled since his leader's deportation. "Why is that?" 

"Sir?" Carter glanced over Klink's shoulder at the next building. Sgt. Kinchloe's barracks. 

Klink blocked the Sgt's view of his friend. "I asked you a question, Sgt. Why are you so happy this morning?" 

Carter shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I guess it's just the sight of the sun on the barbed wire. You know, Colonel Hogan always said…." 

Klink shook his head in frustration, dismissed the men. Carter's behavior was suspicious and warranted investigation, but he found he had no desire to delve into the matter. Instead he crossed to the Negro barracks. "Sgt. Kinchloe." 

"Kommandant?" Kinch stiffened as the man approached. 

"What do you know about the events of last night?" 

"Events, sir?" 

"Yes, Sgt. We had a riot here last night." Klink paced in front of the man. "What do you know about it?" 

"Nothing, sir. Only that we did our best to break it up -- -Newkirk, LeBeau, Carter and me." 

"Yes, you did." Klink considered. "Though I sent Schultz for you when the trouble first began and he couldn't find you." 

Kinch shrugged. "He must not have looked in the right place." 

"Let us hope that is the case." Klink glanced back at Carter, who was leaning against his barracks door. "I suggest you tell Sgt Carter to forget whatever he's planning. An escape attempt now would be futile. And lethal." 

Kinch followed the German's gaze. "He won't give you any trouble, Kommandant. I'll see to it." 

"See that you do." Klink wearily continued to the next barracks. By the time he finished his rounds and escaped back into his office, he'd had more than his fill of hostile stares and mumbled remarks. He'd also been reminded that Hogan's cook had once been tediously sullen and his personal scrounger had been the camp troublemaker. They had both slipped quickly into their previous roles. 

He slumped into his chair and glowered at the stack of paperwork that'd been lurking on his desk since before…. He frowned. He was not going to spend the rest of the war thinking about one irritating prisoner. He reached for the newspapers that had been piling up and swore as a disfigured photo of the Fuhrer stared up at him. "Schultz!" 

Schultz ambled into the room. "Herr Kommandant, you wanted to see Major Anders." 

"I don't want to see him. I have to see him." Klink tossed the paper at Schultz. "Destroy this." 

"What…?" Schultz chuckled, then wiped the grin from his face. "Oh, the Colonel was a very bad man. Such a troublemaker." 

"One that you were supposed to be keeping an eye on." Klink growled as he caught sight of Anders. "Come in, Major." 

Schultz took a protective stance behind Anders as the man plopped onto a chair. Sgt. Kurtz took a position by the door. 

"Major Anders." Klink moved his WWI helmet out of Ander's reach. "What disciplinary action have you taken regarding last night's events?" 

"None." 

"I see." Klink fought for control. "What do you intend to do?" 

"Nothing." 

"Major Anders, it is your job to maintain order in this camp. Any…" 

"Listen, Klink. Your little weasel may have licked your boots, but don't expect me to. I know the enemy when I see him." 

"I see. In that case, we have nothing to talk about." Klink stood, gestured for Kurtz. "Take him to the cooler." 

"Jawohl." Kurtz saluted and tugged Anders to his feet. 

"Go ahead, Kommandant." Anders jeered as he pronounced each syllable of Klink's title. "You'll get yours when Patton shows up." 

"Take him." Klink stopped Schultz as he moved to follow Kurtz. "There are going to be some changes around here, Schultz." 

"Kommandant?" 

"From now on we are a Luftwaffe stalag. There will be no more fraternization with the prisoners. There will be no more taking of bribes. There will be no more speaking English, French, or Russian except to give orders. Is that clear?" 

"But, Herr Kommandant…." 

"Is that clear, Sgt?" 

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz saluted and marched from the office. 

Klink went to his window in time to see Kurtz lead Anders into the cooler, which he was free to call home for the rest of the war. And once the Allies surrendered, he could rot in a work camp until hell froze over. 

Klink stomped back to his desk and tried to focus on his work, but an image haunted him. It was the end of the Great War, the one that had only been the prelude to the current chaos. He was on his knees in the mud, surrendering to the enemy. An enemy that delighted in heaping verbal abuse on him. An enemy that did its best to break and humiliate an entire country. He had vowed on that day that he'd never find himself in that position again. And for a time their Fuhrer had made them all proud to be Germans once more, until the Gestapo took power and the rumors began….

Klink shook his head. No, he would not be humiliated again. Certainly not by someone as crude as Anders. Perhaps, in the past, he could have surrendered to Hogan. He was insolent and annoying, but he'd never had cause to fear him. It was only around the Gestapo that Hogan had seemed like an enemy officer. And now….Klink sighed. After Hochstetter's brutal treatment, Hogan would surely hate all Germans. Any hope Klink had had of a dignified armistice had died when he'd seen the results of the Gestapo agent's 'interrogation.' Now his only chance was….  
"Herr Kommandant…" Schultz came panting through the door. 

"Not now, Schultz." Klink grabbed a file. "Can't you see I'm working?" 

"But, Herr Kommandant…" Schultz gestured toward the door. "There is a car coming through the gate." 

"Well, who is it? Never mind. I'll see myself." Klink hurried past his stammering guard. The way his week had been going, he expected the worst. He wasn't disappointed. A Gestapo staff car pulled through the gate and halted a few feet away. "Major Hochstetter, what a surprise…." 

The man who stepped from the car saluted stiffly. "Heil Hitler, Kommandant Klink. I am Major Mueller." 

"Welcome, Major. I'm sorry. I thought you were our local Gestapo agent. However, I'm always happy to see…" 

"Major Hochstetter is missing. Presumed dead." Mueller scanned the empty compound. "Where are your prisoners?" 

"They're confined to their barracks." Klink gestured at the damage from the previous night. "Punishment for being disruptive." 

"Oh?" Mueller paced around Klink. "You had an escape?" 

"Nein. Merely a fight that got out of hand. Of course, my men had the situation under control at all times…." 

" I'm sure." Mueller gestured to his car. A pair of SS guards immediately joined him. "I will inspect your barracks, Klink." 

"Of course. May I ask what you're looking for?" 

"Evidence that your prisoners were involved in the kidnapping or murder of Major Hochstetter." 

"Murder?" Klink paled . "I assure you my prisoners are completely cowed. There has never been a successful escape from …" 

"Ja,ja. So I've heard." 

Klink followed the man with trepidation. Of course none of his prisoners were involved. It was impossible. Hogan's men were fiercely loyal, but the idea of them leaving camp….during the riot….when Schultz hadn't been able to find them….Klink quickly dismissed the thought. Even considering the possibility was dangerous. For him and for Hogan's men. 

* * * * 


	6. Carter

Carter held his breath as Major Mueller stormed through their building, destroying everything in his way. If they were as destructive in Barracks Two, they might find the whole operation. And without Colonel Hogan to talk their way out of trouble, they could all end up in the cooler. Or worse. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He snapped them open again when he felt someone brush up against him.

"Stand at attention." Schultz growled, then whispered. "The dogs can smell fear." 

Carter nodded. It was what Colonel Hogan had always told him. Don't show any emotion. Don't stand out in any way. Just blend into the shadows and keep your mouth shut until the Gestapo guys get bored and go away. Well, the Colonel called them something other than the 'Gestapo guys,' but he got the message anyway. 

"Very well." Mueller paced in front of the prisoners. "At the moment, all is in order. See that it stays that way." 

"You have nothing to fear, Major…." 

Mueller turned on Klink. "You're right, Kommandant. _I_ have nothing to fear." 

"Uh, yes, Major." Klink gestured towards the door. "If you'd like to come this way." 

Carter waited for the place to empty of Germans, then helped the others clean up. The fellows in his new home were all nice, but he still missed being with his friends. He kept waiting for Newkirk to say something sarcastic or for LeBeau to mumble in French. He even missed seeing the Colonel disappear into his office with Kinch to evaluate the situation after a visit from Hochstetter. That used to make him jealous – that he didn't get to be in on all the secret meetings – but now he would do anything to see the two whispering together.

He sighed as he steadied a broken chair while Sgt Matthews – the barracks handyman – tried to repair it. Everything was different now that the Colonel was gone. Fights broke out in the compound, guards were all over the place and everyone was on edge. The worst part for him was the nights. He'd gotten used to sleeping through the sound of Kinch going up and down the tunnel ladder, through Newkirk and LeBeau slipping out on unauthorized excursions into town, through the Colonel scheming in the next room. What he couldn't get used to was sleeping in the relative quiet of his new home. Oh, there were some snorers and some men who mumbled in their sleep, but the sounds of rebellion were gone. 

"Achtung!" Cpl Virdon trudged into the barracks. "By order of the Kommandant, all prisoners will fall out immediately for a special formation." 

"What's the score?" Carter tried to entice their guard with a candy bar, but he simply shook his head and backed out of the building. It was no surprise – Virdon had never been bribable. But he was manageable. That had been the Colonel's rating system – bribable, manageable, tolerable and transferable. He wondered if Major Anders would be able to talk Klink into shipping out the Nazi guards like the Colonel had. Newkirk told him not to expect anything from their new C.O., but he was an Allied officer. He couldn't be all bad. Still, the Colonel had always told him to trust Newkirk when he was away. Unless Newkirk started talking about girls and gambling, that is. 

A shiver of dread passed through him as he remembered a conversation he'd had with the Colonel while they were waiting in a borrowed truck for Newkirk and LeBeau. It had been one of the rare times that the Colonel had used his first name. "Someday I'll be gone, Andrew. When that happens, I want you to remember three things: Obey Kinch. Trust Newkirk. Listen to LeBeau. Do that and you'll be fine." 

"You waiting for an engraved invitation?" Matthews smacked his arm, pointed to the door. 

Carter shook himself from his reverie, fell into place in line. He glanced over at Kinch's barracks and down the rows of men to Newkirk and LeBeau's buildings. Normally the three would wave at him, but none of them noticed him this time. They were all watching the guard towers. He glanced up to see what had caught his friends' interest, but he couldn't see anything to worry about. 

"Prisoners of the Third Reich." Carter peered across the compound at Klink, who was at his traditional place in front of Barracks Two. He was surprised to see Major Anders standing in Colonel Hogan's old spot. How had he been able to talk his way out of the cooler so soon? "I have been informed by Major Mueller that Major Hochstetter has been either killed or captured….." 

Klink's words were lost as the camp broke into cheers. It was several moments before the barracks guards were able to restore enough order for the Kommandant to continue. " I realize that many of the discipline problems during the last few days have been in response to your Colonel's treatment at the hands of Major Hochstetter. I propose to grant a general amnesty for the violations since Hogan's transfer and I have ordered all prisoners released from the cooler…." Klink paused for another outburst of cheers. "However, from this moment on, Stalag 13 will be ruled with an iron hand. All infractions of the rules will be dealt with swiftly and severely. I believe that if he were here, your Colonel would join me in urging all prisoners to cease and desist from any disruptive behavior." 

Major Anders must have made some comment because Klink abandoned his speech, seemed to be arguing with his Senior POW and then curtly dismissed the whole formation. Carter stared across the compound, wishing once again that he was still at his old barracks and privy to all the small dramas that surrounded the C.O. Living in his new barracks was as boring as living in Bull Frog. 

"Carter!" Kinch hurried up to him. "Are you ok?" 

"Sure." Carter considered the question. "Oh, you mean because the Gestapo went through our barracks?" 

"Yeah. Some people find that a little unsettling." 

"Well, yeah, it was kind of …unsettling…I guess I was kind of scared, but Schultz reminded me of what Colonel Hogan always said about showing fear and…" 

"Schultz?" Kinch shook his head as he glanced from Anders to Schulz. "We're all going to have to start wearing team shirts. I can't tell the good guys from the bad guys anymore." 

"Well, Colonel Hogan always said that Schultz…."

"Everyone ok here?" Newkirk and LeBeau joined their friends. "The filthy buggers made a fine mess of our barracks." 

"They took all our wine." LeBeau shook a fist at the invisible agents. "Some day…" 

"Ok, ok." Kinch put a restraining hand on LeBeau's shoulder. "As long as everyone's safe, we can deal with the rest later." 

"What's this about?" Newkirk nodded at Schultz, who was pointing out their small group to Anders. "You don't suppose old Schultzie is selling us out, do you?" 

"Impossible! He knows he'd get no more strudel." 

"Well, something's up." Newkirk frowned as Schultz and Anders headed towards them. 

"Ok, everyone keep calm." Kinch stepped between his friends and the intruders. 

"Kinchloe." Anders halted several paces away. "I understand that Hogan had his so-called staff provide maid service for the Krauts." 

"We've done some cleaning, yes." Kinch's voice was carefully neutral. "In exchange for extended privileges for the camp as a whole." 

"Well Klink wants his quarters cleaned and I don't have any soldiers to spare." Anders smiled coolly. "Guess that leaves you four." 

Kinch instinctively reached back to restrain Newkirk and LeBeau. "We'll get right on it, Major." 

Anders turned without a word and returned to his barracks. 

"Why that…!" 

"Newkirk!" Schultz caught the Briton as he tried to follow Anders. "Come with me. The Kommandant is waiting." 

"Well, you just tell him to keep waiting. It was one thing to play char-maid for the governor, but if Klink thinks…" 

"Please." Schultz gave Kinch an imploring look. "Come to the Kommandant's quarters." 

"Ok, Schultzie." Kinch nodded at the others. "We're coming." 

"What?" LeBeau side-stepped the group. "I'm not going to be any Bosch servant." 

"Louie." Kinch lowered his voice, drew the others close. "Look how nervous Schultz is. Something's up." 

"Yeah? So?" Newkirk clung stubbornly to his anger. "It's what the Colonel would call an inter-Kraut affair. It has nothing to do with us." 

"Maybe." Kinch herded the small group behind Schultz. "The only way we'll know for sure is if we go check it out." 

"I don't mind. " Carter shrugged as the others glared at him. "Well, there are worse things to have to clean up. Like a barn or a chicken coop. I mean…" 

"Carter." Newkirk caught himself chuckling despite his foul mood. 

Carter couldn't help feeling uneasy as they passed the newly-vigilant sentries outside of Klink's quarters. He'd come here before, with the Colonel. The guards had either ignored them or joked with them. Now they aimed their guns at their hearts. 

"Gentlemen. Come in." Klink met them in the living room, ushered them to his couch. "Have a seat." 

"Kommandant?" Kinch approached the man warily. "You wanted some cleaning done?" 

"No. I …" Klink faltered. "I wanted to speak to you privately. Without Major Anders." 

"Oh." Kinch quickly scanned the room before taking a seat. Schultz was the only other German present, but he was staunchly guarding the exit. "All due respect, Kommandant, but you know we can't tell you anything other than name, rank and serial number. And you already know those." 

"I did not call you here to interrogate you." Klink stood at the window, his attention divided between the camp and his guests. "I won't pretend to be sorry that Major Hochstetter is gone…" Klink ignored the group's comments. "The evidence at the scene points to Russian commandos. There were bits of uniforms, Soviet weapons – even Russian graffiti scrawled on the walls." Klink carefully avoided eye-contact with the prisoners. "The Major's replacement is skeptical, but for the moment he has cleared Stalag 13 of any part in the affair." 

"Kommandant, if you suspect that we…" 

Klink waved off the protest. "I assured Major Mueller that my prisoners were all here –rioting – at the time of the raid." 

"Well…" LeBeau shrugged. "It was a busy night." 

"Ja." Klink stared out the window. "You know, I used to stand here and watch Hogan's window. There was often a light on late at night. I assume that was when your escape committee met." 

"Escape committee?" 

Klink shook his head. "There was no point in going over there night after night. He always had some excuse --- dance lessons, hygiene lectures, some obscure celebration. More than once I considered moving him to the cooler permanently, but he would have found a way to annoy me from there." 

"Begging the Kommandant's pardon, sir…" Newkirk tried to sound nonchalant. "You sound like you miss our Colonel." 

"Miss him?" Klink laughed bitterly. "I miss my orderly camp. I miss sleeping without worrying about having my throat slit during the night. I miss being able to work in my office without a guard outside the door." 

"Well…" Newkirk turned on the persuasive charm. "There's one sure way to get the camp back to normal. Just transfer…" 

"Just transfer Hogan back here now that Major Hochstetter is gone." Klink leaned against the window frame. "I'm afraid that's why I've called you here. I've tried to contact Stalag 3, but I haven't been able to get through. Apparently the Wehrmacht has ….executed a tactical retreat… and …. the front has shifted…" 

"Stalag 3 is behind the lines." Kinch's voice shook. "You don't know where Colonel Hogan is." 

"Ja. Perhaps he's been liberated or the camp has been moved." 

"Or a camp-full of unarmed prisoners is caught in the crossfire." Newkirk was on his feet, heedless of Schultz' immediate movement towards him. 

"I'm sorry. I thought – as his staff – you should know. " Klink made brief eye-contact with the men, quickly turned back to the window. "It was never my intention to put your commander in the line of fire. After Hochstetter's latest interrogation….I believed I was acting in his best interest." Klink paused, summoned an authoritative tone. "I'll keep you informed of the situation. I think you should know that I've ordered reinforcements to prevent any repeat of last night's chaos. I have no wish to see any of my prisoners harmed, but I will do what I have to to maintain order. I believe that you four have considerable influence on the others – I trust you will use it to prevent any needless bloodshed." 

"Yes, sir. We'll do what we can." Kinch herded their group towards the door. "We appreciate you keeping us informed, sir." 

"Yes, sir. We appreciate it, sir." Newkirk spat out the words as soon as they were away from the guards. "Bloody bootlicker." 

"Newkirk!" LeBeau hissed. 

"Listen to me, Corporal." Kinch spoke between clenched teeth. "We need Klink to get Colonel Hogan back so we're going to do whatever it takes to keep him happy. If that means licking his boots, than that's what we're going to do. All of us. Is that clear?" 

Newkirk cursed at the man, then spun on his heels and stomped away.

"Newkirk…" Carter started after his friend, but LeBeau caught him. 

"Let him go." 

Kinch took several deep breaths, then whispered. "I'm going to contact our friends. They'll be able to find out what's going on in Poland." 

"But the tunnel…" Carter glanced towards Barracks Two. "Klink let Major Anders out of the cooler." 

"I know. It can't be helped." Kinch headed across the compound, stopped to confer with Langenscheidt. 

"LeBeau…" Carter looked helplessly at his remaining friend. "What are we going to do?" 

"Not here." LeBeau led him to a secluded area. 

"Newkirk didn't mean anything. I know he didn't." 

"He's upset. We all are." 

"Can't you do something?" Carter plopped onto a bench. "I hate it when everyone fights like this." 

"I know." LeBeau patted his friend's shoulder as he took a seat beside him. "It will get better, Andre. Don't worry. " 

"Right." Carter nodded. "Just as soon as the Colonel gets back." 

"Oui." LeBeau studied his hands. "Then all will be well again." 

Carter noticed Newkirk leaning against the barracks directly across from them. He tried to wave his friend over, but the man pretended he didn't see him. He was about to go talk to him – or try to, at any rate – when he noticed Kinch walking towards them. He jumped to his feet as the radioman approached them. "Did you get through to London? What…?" 

Carter gasped as Kinch grabbed him and muffled him with his hand. He'd never truly realized how strong the man was until he pinned him against the wall of the nearest barracks. 

"Shut up!" Kinch hissed in his ear. "This isn't a game! Don't you understand that?" 

"Kinch!" LeBeau tugged on the black man's arm. 

"Let him go!" Newkirk shoved Kinch away from the younger man. "Take on someone your own size." 

"Stop it!" LeBeau pushed his way between the two combatants. "Do you want to get us all tossed into the cooler?" 

"Look!" Carter pointed wildly towards the approaching guards. "You've got to stop!" 

Kinch backed away, his hands held before him. Newkirk glowered at the gathering Germans, did the same.

"It's ok." Carter waved away the intruders. "They were just rough-housing." 

"Oui. No problem here." LeBeau took Kinch and Newkirk each by an arm. 

The guards didn't look convinced, but they backed off anyway. The men breathed a collective sigh of relief as they found themselves alone again. 

"I'm sorry, Kinch." Carter whispered in the awkward silence. "I didn't mean to be so loud." 

"I shouldn't have been so rough." Kinch backed away from the small group, leaned against a wall. "But better me than the Gestapo." 

Newkirk scoffed. 

"He's right." LeBeau maintained a position between Newkirk and Kinch. "You must be more careful, Andre. You would not enjoy a visit to the Gestapo." 

Carter nodded. "I won't do it again. I promise." 

"Carter…" Kinch swallowed. "I could barely handle seeing the Colonel after Hochstetter got done with him. I don't think I could keep myself from strangling someone if they tortured you." 

"It's ok." Carter reached for Kinch. "I'll be really careful from now on. I promise." 

"All right then." Newkirk mumbled as he lit a cigarette. "What did our friends have to say?" 

Kinch cleared his throat, lowered his voice. "The Russians have pushed through Poland. London's heard reports that thousands of prisoners are being marched into Germany." 

"Marched?" LeBeau scowled. "Can't they be liberated?" 

Kinch shook his head. "Not without putting them in more danger." 

"Well, we just have to tell Klink and…" Carter bit his lip as three scathing glares hit him. "Oh, well maybe that's a bad idea." 

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "So what do we do now?" 

"There's nothing we can do." Kinch exhaled loudly. "Except wait." 

"Fine. Well, I'm doing my waiting inside." Newkirk tossed his cigarette butt onto the snow and plodded towards his barracks. 

"Oui." LeBeau tugged his coat closer. "Come have some wine. It'll warm you up." 

"I thought the Krauts took it all." 

LeBeau cursed. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" Carter sighed as LeBeau stalked towards his building. "Jeez. Everything I say lately is wrong." 

"That's ok. Everything I do lately is wrong." Kinch clenched his fists, slowly opened them. "I'm sorry. I would never have hurt you. Not intentionally." 

"I know that." Carter whistled. "Boy, you sure are strong though. I wouldn't want to get in a fight with you." 

"No. You wouldn't. And you wouldn't want to spend ten minutes with the Gestapo either. " Kinch gestured Carter back to the bench. "You've got to promise me something, Andrew. " 

"Sure. Anything." 

"Promise me that you'll believe in the existence of evil. Really believe in it." Kinch laid his hand on Carter's chest. "In here." 

"I do. I know all about the Gestapo." 

"That's not good enough. You've got to believe that there could be spies or turncoats among us. You've got to believe that Klink -- and even Schultz – would execute you if they had orders." 

Carter shook his head. "They wouldn't. I know they wouldn't." 

"Carter…" Kinch sighed. "Never mind. Let's go see if Louie will make us some decent grub, ok?" 

"Sure. I'll go get Newkirk and meet you there." Carter ignored Kinch's exasperated look as he hurried away. Someone had to keep them all together until the Colonel got back. He just prayed that would be soon. 

* * * *

"Carter!" 

Carter halted. One of Anders' men was strolling across the compound towards him. Cpl Marsden had gone on Colonel Hogan's 'no-tell' list when he'd refused to take a direct order from Kinch. He'd gone on Carter's avoid list when he heard what he did to a family of mice he'd found living by the Rec Hall.

"Major Anders wants to see you." Marsden grinned maliciously. 

"Ok." Carter reluctantly followed Marsden to Barracks Two. He was shocked at the condition of his old home. The Gestapo had left nothing unbroken in their search for contraband. "Boy. This place sure is a mess." 

"Major Mueller was convinced that he'd find a tunnel." Anders circled Carter. "Why is that?" 

"Jeez, sir. I wouldn't know what a Gestapo agent is thinking." 

"Don't play stupid with me, Sgt." Anders forced Carter to meet his eyes. "I want to know where the tunnel is. Right now." 

"Tunnel, sir?" Carter stammered. "I don't know about any tunnel." 

"I see." Anders took a step back. "I was beginning to think that Hogan might have been a good officer, but I guess he really was just a yellow turncoat." 

"Colonel Hogan is a great man! He'd die before he'd sell out." 

"Then he was a spy?" 

" I didn't say that. I just…" 

"Make up your mind, Sgt. He was either a spy hero or a spineless coward." 

"He.." Carter fidgeted with the zipper on his flight suit. Colonel Hogan and Kinch had given him long lectures on want to do if he was interrogated by a Kraut officer, but no one had ever told him what to do if an American major grilled him. He knew he had to obey Anders, but he'd seen the Colonel lie to superior officers for the good of the operation. But still…." 

"For the last time, where is the tunnel?" 

"I…" Carter shook his head helplessly. Then he did the one thing the Colonel had always told him not to do. He shot a nervous glance at Kinch's bunk. 

Anders didn't miss it. He hurried to the bunk, gestured for his men to follow. "Here? Where?" 

"With respect, sir." Carter stared miserably at his feet. "I can't." 

Anders hurled a string of verbal abuse at him while he and his men yanked and banged and kicked the bunk bed. It was only a matter of moments before one of them hit the right spot and the secret door sprang open. "Holy shit!" 

Carter collapsed onto his old bed and buried his face in his hands. Colonel Hogan would never forgive him this time. Never. 

"I'll be damned. He really was a spy." Anders clambered out of the tunnel and towered over Carter. "Where's the radio code book?" 

"I don't know." 

"Sgt…." 

"I swear, Major. I don't know. I didn't have anything to do with the radio." 

"Who did?" Anders swore in frustration, turned to Marsden. "Bring me Hogan's damn lackey. And his frog. And his Brit. Now." 

Carter winced at the thought of facing his friends. He'd rather be beaten by Hochstetter than be hated by the rest of the team. He couldn't bring himself to look up as the door banged open and Marsden ushered Kinch, Newkirk and LeBeau in.

"You boys have some explaining to do." Anders voice was ice. "And then we'll deal with your punishment." 

"Reminds me of my dear old da." Newkirk mumbled. 

"Andre? What's wrong, mon ami?" 

Carter shook his head, slid away from LeBeau. 

"Just what the hell were you four trying to prove?" Anders spat out the words. " I can have you all court-martialed and shot right here." 

"Begging the Major's pardon, sir." Kinch spoke cautiously. "We had standing orders from London to protect the secrecy of the operation." 

"Not from me, you morons." Anders stalked around their group. "I want to know what's going on and I want to know now." 

"Yes, sir." Kinch's voice was devoid of emotion. "Our orders from London are to aid downed airmen in returning to Allied territory and to relay information gathered by the local Underground." 

" So much for minding the store." Newkirk didn't try to hide his disgust.

"How many people know about this? Is the whole camp in on this little joke?" 

"No, sir." Kinch suppressed a cough. "Colonel Hogan classified the operation as 'need to know' only. The prisoners that arrived after the operation began have only a vague idea of the situation, unless they have skills that we could use. Most of the prisoners who were here before the Colonel arrived know more because they helped dig the tunnels." 

"And when were you intending to inform me?" 

"With due respect, sir --Colonel Hogan gave standing orders that all new prisoners are assumed to be spies until proven otherwise." 

"You dare to assume anything about me?" Anders shouted at Kinch. "I want the radio codes and I want them now!" 

"Yes, sir." 

Carter's stomach twisted as he watched Kinch retrieve the code book from his coat lining and surrender it to Anders. He bit back his surprise when he heard the radioman explain that the recognition code was 'Baby Bear.' He forced his face to go blank and refused to look at anything other than the floor. 

"Alright, now all of you – get out of my sight and stay out of my sight." Anders headed for the tunnel, signaled for his men to follow him. 

Carter hoped the others would forget about him in their haste to get away from Anders, but they halted by the door. 

"Come on, Carter." 

"I can't. You don't know…" 

"Not here." Kinch whispered as he pulled the younger man to his feet. 

Carter let himself be led outside and offered no resistance when Kinch towed him to a secluded area behind the delousing station. He deserved to be beaten after what he'd done. He closed his eyes and bit his lip. At least he could take his punishment like a man. 

"Andrew." Kinch laughed softly. "Open your eyes." 

Carter shook his head. 

"He didn't bring you back here to knock you silly." Newkirk smacked Carter with his cap. "Though God knows someone should." 

"But you don't understand." Carter hesitantly opened his eyes. "I gave away the tunnel. You have to beat me up." 

"Later, Andre. After the war. Right now we have more important things to do." 

"But, I don't understand." Carter glanced from man to man. "Don't you hate me?" 

"Anders is an Allied officer, Carter. It was only a matter of time before he found out about the operation." Kinch frowned. "I had hoped we could keep it quiet till we found out more about the Colonel, but I knew eventually he'd ask one of us point blank and we'd have to tell him. There was nothing you could do." 

"Well, actually, I didn't tell him anything." Carter shuffled his feet in the snow. "I just sort of looked at Kinch's bunk and..." 

"Carter!" Newkirk shook his head. "How many times has the governor told you to stare at the floor during an inspection?" 

"I know, but…" 

"Alright. That's enough." Kinch leaned against the delousing station. "Let's try to go down with a little dignity." 

"Go down?" Carter stared at Kinch. "What do you mean?" 

"He means that's the end of us. Our part of the operation." Newkirk lit a cigarette. "Well, it was a fine lark while it lasted." 

"Oui. It was magnifique." LeBeau turned to Kinch. "But what was that you said about 'Baby Bear'?" 

"Yeah." Carter forced himself to keep his voice down. "What's that mean?" 

"It's a code, isn't it?" Newkirk saw the truth in Kinch's broad grin. "You and the governor are pulling something, aren't you?" 

Kinch chuckled. "It's a code that tells London that the Colonel is gone, a new officer is in charge and we don't trust him. As soon as they hear 'Baby Bear calling Goldilocks,' they'll send an urgent message to maintain radio silence for 48 hours." 

"Blimey!" Newkirk exchanged relieved looks with LeBeau. "What happens after 48 hours?" 

"London will contact the Underground to try to get the name of the new officer. They'll do a background check on Anders and either approve him or scuttle the operation." Kinch shrugged. "Either way, it's out of our hands." 

"Well, that's it then." Newkirk scanned the barbed wire perimeter. "I guess there's nothing left to do but pack." 

"Pack? You mean you're going to escape?" Carter shook his head. "But the Colonel will be back soon. We can't leave now." 

"Andre, you know none of us would abandon mon Colonel, but he…." LeBeau put his arm around the young American. "Come to Paris with me. I'll introduce you to a beautiful girl who will make you forget all about Bull Frog." 

"What's he going to do with a French bird?" Newkirk tugged Carter away from LeBeau. "Now, London, that's the only place to go. I'll take you to my favorite pub and introduce you to this friendly little serving wench who'll…" 

"Alright." Kinch used his command tone. "We're not going anywhere until we know for certain where Colonel Hogan is. And if we do escape, it's going to be straight back to Allied Headquarters." 

"Leave it to you to take the fun out of everything." Newkirk winked at Carter. "Never mind, we'll nip out after all the saluting and.." 

"Newkirk." Kinch gave up, exasperated. 

"Seriously, guys." Carter turned hopefully to his friends. "Do you think the Colonel will be mad at me about the tunnel? 

"It's alright, Carter. The Colonel knew we couldn't refuse to tell an officer about the operation. That's why he set up the 'Baby Bear' code. So London could deal with any bastards that came along. " Kinch frowned. "Anyway, he'll be too busy dressing me down for letting Klink drug him to worry about you." 

"What could you have done? Taken on all the Krauts with your bare hands?" LeBeau sighed. "Anyway, at least you never doubted mon Colonel. I was so sure he'd betrayed us…" 

"All right, mates. So we've all screwed up. The important thing is that we're still a team." Newkirk looked hesitantly at Kinch. "Right?" 

Kinch nodded. "Right you are, mate." 

"In that case…" Newkirk dug into his pockets, held a watch out to Kinch. "I think this is yours." 

"Hey!" Kinch started to put the watch on, halted with a frown. "It's broken." 

"Yeah, well…" Newkirk cleared his throat. "Guess we'll all be digging latrines once the governor's back." 

Kinch couldn't suppress a laugh. "You know, Peter, your escape plan is sounding better and better." 

* * * * 


	7. Burkhalter

The barns outside Friewaldau were generally filled with livestock. Tonight they were filled with Allied prisoners. General Burkhalter supervised the establishment of temporary camps and the posting of guards for the evening. Most of the Kriegies had shown enough sense not to escape. Between the frigid winter, the enraged civilians and the approaching Soviets, staying with the group seemed most prudent. 

Burkhalter tried not to dwell on the obvious reason that few of the thousands of prisoners were trying to escape. They could hear the Third Reich crumbling and knew that liberation would come soon. And the revenge would begin shortly after that. Had already begun, if the reports of Russian brutality were to be believed. Of course, when all the secrets were dislodged from their hiding places, the cry for blood would be unquenchable. 

He would be dead by then. Of that he was certain. But his family must escape. His wife, sister and nieces must not fall into enemy hands. Until recently he'd thought that he'd had a contingency plan in place to get the women to neutral territory. But that had been before Hochstetter had indulged his sadistic tendencies at Stalag 13. 

A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. It had been Churchill's description of Russia, but Burkhalter found it equally fitting for Klink's Senior POW. When he'd first seen the man, he'd been unimpressed. Anyone who cowered before an incompetent fool like Klink wasn't worth a second notice. But as time went by, he began to notice the contradictions. Hogan seemed capable of escaping whenever he wished, but would routinely show up at the front gate to surrender. He thought nothing of turning his own men over to Klink for punishment, but anyone else who threatened them vanished mysteriously from the face of the Earth. 

Where Hochstetter saw a master spy, Burkhalter saw a charismatic opportunist who could be of value to the Fatherland. But now… He silently cursed the crude force employed by Hochstetter's ilk. Control via terror was such an ineffectual tool, one that ultimately set in motion a cycle of revenge that destroyed whole cities. Especially when the victim was a man whose friends wore many uniforms. 

"Sgt." Burkhalter summoned one of the Luftwaffe guards. "Have you been watching the American Colonel?" 

"Per your orders, Herr General." The man pointed behind a barn. "He went back there a few moments ago." 

Burkhalter dismissed the sergeant, headed in the direction indicated. Most of the prisoners were too exhausted to venture from the barns, but a few wandered within the secured perimeters. He spotted a man on his knees, most likely vomiting up his soup ration. He approached silently and waited in the shadows until the officer leaned back against a tree. "I expected you to be dead by now. You must have Prussian blood." 

Hogan instinctively reached inside his jacket for his revolver. The revolver that was hopefully still in its hiding place at Stalag 13. He attempted to shrug off the pathetic gesture. "General. What's a nice guy like you doing in a rotten place like this?" 

"It's been two days and 35 kilometers." Burkhalter assisted Hogan to his feet. "It's enough." 

"You're surrendering?" Hogan supported himself against a tree, too exhausted to worry about image. 

"It's two more days hard marching to the train station. There's no shame in accepting the privileges of your rank. Let me find you a warm bed for the night." 

Hogan shook his head. 

"You've proved that you can't be broken. Your death will serve no purpose." 

"I don't want to die. I just want to go back to Stalag 13." Hogan tried to fake a smile. "The barbed wire is beautiful this time of the year." 

"It's over, Hogan. The Underground, the Black Market….." Burkhalter dismissed Hogan's weak protest. "You can't continue whatever you were doing at Stalag 13. Hochstetter has marked you for death. A slow, painful death." 

"He threatened my men. If I don't go back…." 

"If he wants to kill them, he'll do it regardless of whether you're there or not."

"He'd have to go through me first, if I was there." 

"In your present condition, that wouldn't be difficult." Burkhalter steadied Hogan as he suddenly swayed. He watched as the junior officer summoned what had to be his last bit of willpower to stay on his feet. If Hogan didn't have Prussian ancestors, he should have had. Burkhalter silently cursed the stupidity of sacrificing one of such potential while thousands of inferiors destroyed what could have been a glorious world. "Forget them, Hogan. You can still have a future in the Third Reich. I guarantee you…" 

Hogan brushed away Burkhalter's support, gestured in the direction of the battle front. "There's your future, General. I may not live to see the Reds in Berlin, but they'll be there. Soon." 

"Perhaps." Burkhalter pondered the distant explosions. "But tell me -- do Churchill and Roosevelt honestly believe that they can control Stalin if the Fuhrer falls?" 

"No. I doubt either of them are that naïve." Hogan supported his ribs so he could take a deeper breath. "One dictator at a time, General. We'll get the world back in shape eventually." 

Burkhalter glanced from the battle front to the disheveled man before him. The combination of his military connections and Hogan's charisma could have made them an unbeatable power block, but now he seemed destined to die by his own hand and the American to die anonymously in the snow. Such a waste. "I've leaving now for my quarters in Friewaldau. Do you insist on being stubborn?" 

"Save me a good room at Stalag 7." Hogan closed his eyes, slouched against the tree. "Something with a nice view, close to the sauna…" 

Burkhalter shook his head, started for his staff car. 

"General." 

Burkhalter halted. "Yes?" 

"I can still protect your family. If…." 

If you survive long enough, Burkhalter mused. Still, any port in a storm. "If?" 

"If you contact Klink and find out if Hochstetter's been bothering my boys." 

"And if he has?" 

"Then I'll have added incentive to stay alive long enough to kill the S.O.B." 

"Very well. I'll have the information for you by the time we make Moosberg." Burkhalter glanced over his shoulder as he left the area. Hogan had sunk to his knees in the snow. It was time to prepare a new contingency plan to ensure his family's welfare. 

* * * * 


	8. Anders

Anders was awake the instant his door squeaked open. He listened as the fat guard made his way through the darkness and leaned over the top bunk. "Major. Wake up, Major." 

"It's not even sunrise. What the hell do you want?" 

"Oh. You sleep down there." Schultz bent over the bottom bunk. "Colonel Hogan always slept on the top bunk, unless he was sick then…" 

"Did you wake me up to tell me that?" 

"Nein." Schultz drew to a military stance. "The Kommandant wants to see you immediately." 

"Alright. I'll be out in a minute." 

"Nein. I'm to escort you." 

"Ok. If you get your kicks out of watching men dress." Anders flipped back the covers and mumbled as he pulled on his slacks. "Guess this is the perfect job if that's what you're into." 

Schultz' replied in curt German, but stood firmly by the door until Anders was ready.

"Ok. Let's go." Anders stomped out of the barracks, Schultz doggedly at his heels. He quickly scanned the area for signs of a trap. Guards stood in front of each barracks, the doors of which had been latched from the outside. As Schultz herded him away from his own building, Sgt Kurtz efficiently slid a board into position across the door. He would be the last to leave Barracks Two – at least via the door. "Alright, what's going on here?" 

"The Kommandant will tell you." Schultz gestured to Klink, who waited outside his office.

Anders approached cautiously. As he drew nearer to Klink, the gates slowly opened and he could hear the rumble of approaching trucks. 

"Major." Klink nodded formally. "I regret waking you at this hour." 

"I demand to know what's going on here." Anders glanced from Klink to the four trucks that were pulling into the compound. "We don't have room for that many new prisoners." 

"I regret, Major, the trucks are picking up prisoners, not dropping them off. Your incessant bombing raids have destroyed several miles of railroad track. The Wehrmacht needs workers to repair the damage and restore our supply lines." 

"If you think Americans are going to…" 

"The workers will be Russian." Klink followed the trucks as they rumbled to the far end of camp. "The Soviets do not adhere to the Geneva Convention, therefore their airmen are exempt from its protection. I regret that is the case, however…" 

Anders shook his head. "You got me out of bed to wave bye-bye to a bunch of commies?" 

"Col…" Klink cleared his throat. "Your predecessor objected to the work transfers. I'm glad you're more realistic. It took Hogan several trips to the cooler before he accepted that the situation was out of his hands. And mine." 

"I'm responsible for the Allied prisoners. Uncle Joe can worry about his Reds." 

"Very sensible, Major. I won't bother to wake you in the future, unless Americans are directly involved." 

Anders ignored the icy sarcasm. The day would come when Klink would be on his knees before him, begging for mercy. And he would have to beg. 

He watched abstractly as the Reds were dragged from their barracks and herded into the trucks. They were good fighters, he'd give them that. The Wehrmacht boys had to knock more than one of them around before they managed to get them under control. 

"Herr Kommandant." Schultz pointed at one of the prisoners, who was taking on two soldiers on his own. 

"Ja. I see." Klink raised his voice. "Hauptmann, that man is my interpreter. If you could leave him…" 

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst." The captain shoved Sasha Pasternak onto the snow. The Russian was on his feet and wading back into the fray a moment later. 

"Schultz…" Klink exhaled loudly. 

Schultz was already signaling for Luftwaffe guards to help him drag Pasternak away from the Wehrmacht. 

"Put him in the isolation cell until he calms down." Klink shook his head as Schultz and two other guards manhandled the cursing Russian towards the cooler. "If he calms down." 

"Hate to meet that one on the battlefield." Anders laughed as Schultz finally managed to subdue the volatile prisoner. "Why keep him around?" 

"He has been of some assistance in the past, though I doubt we'll be able to control him now." 

"Let me guess. Your weasel could control him." Anders took Klink's glare as an affirmative. 

Klink pushed past him and gestured his guards to his side. The Wehrmacht had gathered their quota of prisoners and the remaining Russians had to be herded back into their barracks and locked inside. Once that end of camp was secure, the guards cautiously removed the latches and released the non-Soviet prisoners. Anders shook his head as he assumed his place in line for roll call. Much ado about nothing. 

* * * * 

The tunnel was amazing. Each time he traveled it, Anders found some new bit of contraband. Explosives, a two-way radio, counterfeit money, stolen art, German military maps, a wine press. The scope of the operation was mind-boggling. That a weasel like Hogan could have pulled off something this audacious was beyond belief. He had to have been a wolf in weasel clothing. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Definitely one of FDR's ilk though – the man clearly had no idea why God made races and classes. 

"Major!" Marsden shouted down the tunnel entrance. "The four stooges want to see you." 

"Let them wait." Anders flopped onto the cot by the radio, deliberately waited for ten minutes to pass. Then he nonchalantly climbed the ladder. Hogan's ex-staff drew to attention as he closed the trap door. "What's this all about?" 

"Sir." Kinch's tone was properly deferential. "We wanted to speak to you about Sgt Pasternak." 

"Who?" 

"The Russian who was sent to the cooler this morning." 

"Oh. Is that his name?" Anders lit a cigarette, perched on the edge of the table. "Well? What about him?" 

"He's been sent to the isolation cell." 

"So?" 

"So it's a bloody nasty place to be." Newkirk scowled. "Even for a Red." 

"Colonel Hogan wouldn't…" 

Kinch silenced Carter with a look. "The isolation cell doesn't have bars or windows, sir. There's no cot or plumbing. The Kommandant doesn't normally keep prisoners in there very long, but Schultz says Sasha won't calm down." 

"Again. So?" 

LeBeau mumbled in French. 

Kinch took a breath and plowed on. "I think I could get him to settle down enough to at least be moved to a regular cellif I could just talk to him." 

"How does this involve me, Sgt?" Anders scowled Kinch's friends into silence. 

"Only the Senior POW can talk to the Kommandant. Without Klink's permission, I can't get past the cooler guards." Kinch looked at the officer hopefully. "I thought you might talk to Klink." 

"I might." Anders considered the men before him. "But first I want the answers to some questions. " 

"Whatever we can tell you, Major." Kinch met his eyes warily. "Just ask." 

"Alright." Anders blew a smoke ring at his visitors. "When I radioed London, I got an urgent message to maintain radio silence for 48 hours. Why is that?" 

"That's not unusual." Kinch's voice was perfectly neutral. "We often have to maintain radio silence." 

"Uh-huh." Anders considered the black sergeant skeptically. " I know you operated the radio and the Brit here was Hogan's thief, but who was the explosives man?" 

"That was…" Kinch paused as Carter began shaking his head furiously. And very noticeably. 

"Sgt." Anders shot Carter a malicious smile. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?" 

"No, sir." Carter stared at his feet. "Not really." 

"I'm the demolitions man." LeBeau spoke up. "Anything you want blown up, just call me. Voila. It's gone." 

"Uh-huh." Anders tossed his cigarette on the floor, ground it out with his heel. "Is that the case, Sgt. Carter?" 

"I…" 

"We all took turns blowing stuff up." Newkirk grinned. "It's more democratic that way." 

"Sgt." Anders stepped directly in front of Carter. "For the last time, who handled the explosives for Hogan?" 

"I did, Major." Carter refused to look at the officer, concentrated instead on yanking his zipper up and down. 

"Good. Then you'll retain your position. As soon as we…" 

"No, sir." Carter was barely audible. "I can't." 

"Carter!" Kinch hissed a warning. 

"I beg your pardon?" Anders turned on the young man. "Did you just refuse an order?" 

"No. I mean, I really can't sir." Carter glanced up hopefully. "Unless you promise to only hit military targets." 

"What? You dare to tell me what action I can take?" Anders' voice seethed with anger. "You're bucking for a court martial, Sgt." 

"You've got to excuse my mate Carter." Newkirk laughed nervously. "It's battle fatigue. He's finally cracked." 

"Sgt." Kinch grabbed Carter's arm. "Major Anders is in charge of the operation now. If he orders you to make bombs, you make bombs." 

"I won't." Carter shook off Kinch's hand. "I know my bombs kill people, but Colonel Hogan promised he'd never order me to blow up a civilian target. I won't kill little kids. Not on purpose. So I won't make bombs for Major Anders unless he promises…"

"Listen to me you insubordinate little coward." Anders towered over Carter. "If I order you to blow up an orphanage, that's exactly what you'll do. Is that clear?" 

"No, sir." Carter bit his lip. "I won't." 

"Andre…" 

"That's it. You may have been able to pull this crap with Hogan, but you're not going to do it with me." Anders yanked Carter towards the door. 

"Major." Kinch tried desperately to intercede. "Let me talk to him. I can…" 

"Out of the way." Anders shoved Carter outside. "Now, you little bleeding heart, you're going to stand at attention. And you're going to stay that way until hell freezes over." 

"Yes, sir." Carter drew to attention, fixed his vision on a spot on the horizon. 

LeBeau shot a string of angry French at Anders until Kinch succeeded in muffling him with a hand over his mouth. 

"Why you…" Newkirk growled as Kinch yanked him back by his collar. 

"Major…" Kinch shoved Newkirk and LeBeau away from the officer. "You're right, sir. Colonel Hogan did let Carter off his leash too often. I can get him back under control if you…" 

"Too little, too late." Anders raised his voice for the benefit of the prisoners who were gawking at the spectacle. "It's about time you people realized that Hogan is gone. Things are going to be run my way from now on. When I give an order, it will be obeyed." 

"Carter." Kinch implored. " The Colonel wouldn't want you to be court-martialed."

"Andre, you have to obey the Major." LeBeau drew close, dropped his voice. "At least until we escape." 

"Right." Newkirk spoke in hushed tones. "Tell the blighter you'll work for him and we'll be out of here tonight." 

"Major Anders! What is the meaning of this?" 

Anders glanced up to find Klink stalking towards him, flanked by his guards. "This is Allied business, Kommandant. It doesn't concern you." 

"This is my camp. Anything that happens here is my concern." Klink broke through the ring of spectators. "You are a prisoner here, Major. If I ask you a question, you will answer it." 

"Begging the Kommandant's pardon, sir." Anders spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm disciplining an insubordinate sergeant. My understanding, sir, is that you allowed Hogan to dish out his own punishment to his own men." Anders gestured at his staff. "These men in particular." 

Klink considered the sullen prisoners lurking behind Anders. "I've thrown most of these men into the cooler for brawling. If Hogan disciplined them, it was indoors – not out in the snow, not in front of the whole camp." 

Anders shrugged. "I have my own technique." 

"Not in my camp." 

"Why are you so interested in this loser?" Anders circled Carter, who still remained at attention. "Is he a turncoat as well as a coward?" 

"I suggest you remember your position, Major. You're a prisoner, existing at the sufferance of the Third Reich. You will treat me with respect or you will suffer the consequences." 

Anders scoffed loudly. 

"Very well." Klink gestured for Schultz. 

"Back to the cooler?" Schultz sounded almost gleeful. 

"Ja." Klink ignored Anders' string of abuse, paused beside Carter. "You're confined to your barracks until further notice, Sgt. I don't want to see any more trouble between you and the Major." 

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean, thank you, sir." 

Anders cursed at Klink's back, then switched his anger to Hogan's men. "This isn't over. By the time I'm through with you four, you'll wish you'd never met your great Hogan." 

"Yes, sir." Kinch shoved Carter towards his barracks as Schultz yanked Anders towards the cooler. 

"Give our regards to Sasha." Newkirk called. "He'll be the maniac making all the noise." 

"Oui. I'm sure you will find his company very comforting." 

Court martials. Anders promised himself as he was led away. Each and every one of them was going to rot in prison just as soon as he got back to London. 

* * * 


	9. Schultz

Schultz paused outside the Kommandant's living room, silently eavesdropped on the radio broadcast. The BBC announced the invasion of Poland by Russian troops and the continued carpet bombing of Berlin. 

"And here's a special message for the commanders of all German POW camps. We'll be coming for our lads soon and we'll hold you accountable for any deaths while they're under your care. This message is for you, Major Udelhoven of Stalag 1, Colonel Gollmer of Stalag 2…" Schultz held his breath as the announcer worked his way to "Colonel Klink of Stalag 13, Major…." 

"Schultz." 

"Jawohl." Schultz frowned as he realized he'd been caught lurking in the hallway. "Here I am, just coming into the building." 

"Never mind." Klink turned off the radio. "Did you hear?" 

"Herr Kommandant, I…" 

"Ja, ja.' Klink gestured Schultz to a chair. "It's happening again. It'll be Versailles all over." 

"You mustn't say that, Herr Kommandant." Schultz remembered all too clearly what the reparations demanded after the last war had done to his country. He'd struggled to feed his family while the economy collapsed around him. To go through that again… "Our Fuhrer wouldn't let it happen." 

"The war is going badly." Klink shook his head wearily. "They've just reported --Dresden is gone." 

"Gone?" 

"Fire-bombed." Klink closed his eyes. "They say thousands were killed." 

"But Dresden is a cultural city. It has no military value." 

"It was a cultural city. Now it's a pile of rubble." 

"But why?" 

"Revenge for the London blitzkrieg, the looting of Paris, the siege of Leningrad…." Klink laughed bitterly. "Perhaps even for the attack on Pearl Harbor." 

"But we had nothing to do with Pearl Harbor." 

"Anger must go somewhere, Schultz. The combined fury of the Allies was turned on Dresden. And soon it will be turned on us." Klink sighed. "Especially if the rumors are true." 

"Nein. They can't be." Schultz had head the whispers, but they were too horrific. It wasn't possible. Not in Germany. 

"I hope not, but General Burkhalter seems certain there will be trials if the Allies win. He doesn't intend to be taken alive." Klink tapped his service revolver. "He may be right." 

"Herr Kommandant!" Schultz leaned forward anxiously. "You can't." 

"What choice do I have?" Klink stood, paced to his window. "Do you expect me to surrender to a pig like Anders?" 

Schultz shook his head reluctantly. "If only Colonel Hogan…" 

"Ja." Klink stared blankly out the window. "I spoke to General Burkhalter earlier. He said the prisoners from Stalag 3 were moved to Stalag 7. Stalin could not be allowed to commandeer the services of the British and American pilots for Soviet planes." 

"Than Colonel Hogan is safe." Schultz breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. I was afraid that…" 

"The prisoners were forced to march for four days through the snow." Klink turned slowly to Schultz. "Hogan collapsed on the third day. General Burkhalter says his wounds are badly infected. He doesn't expect him to recover." 

"Herr Kommandant, you must do something. He's a troublemaker, but…" 

"But I'd rather surrender to him than to Anders." Klink poured a glass of schnapps. "It's odd, Schultz. Annoying as Hogan was, I think we could have been friends if the circumstances had been different. Now he'll die among strangers and I'll have to kneel at that bastard Anders' feet." 

"But couldn't you transfer him back here, now that Major Hochstetter is gone? He may not be as sick as the General believes." 

"Ja. He's too stubborn to die." Klink downed his drink. "Alright. Go to Moosburg and bring him back here. If he must die, he should at least be with his men. I owe him that much." 

"Jawohl." Schultz saluted and hurried outside. He was looking for Langenscheidt when Sgt Kinchloe approached him. 

"Schultz. We need a favor." 

"I'm about to leave camp." Schultz halted beside the black man. "Can it wait?" 

"I don't think so." Kinch sounded as exhausted as Schultz felt. "Something has to be done about Sasha. I just talked to the guard at the cooler. He says he's still banging on the door." 

"Ja. He does not like small spaces. The Kommandant said he could move to a bigger cell once he calmed down, but only Colonel Hogan…" 

"Let me talk to him." 

"Well…" Schultz shot a quick glance at Klink's quarters. "Alright, but only for a moment." 

"Thanks. I owe you one." Kinch strode quickly towards the cooler. 

Schultz followed at a more sedate pace. The Soviet prisoners had never given the German guards any reason to be overly concerned with their welfare. In fact, their end of camp was too dangerous for any but the toughest guards to patrol. Still, he didn't enjoy seeing any human being suffer – even a Russian. 

"Come on, Schultz." Kinch waited for him at the entrance to the cooler. 

"Ja, ja." Schultz didn't need to ask the guard on duty if the Russian had settled down. He could hear his cursing from the door. "Maybe we should wait." 

"Just give me five minutes." 

"Alright." Schultz reluctantly led the way inside. 

"Sasha." Kinch made his way to the steel door of the isolation cell and raised his voice above the Russian's shouting. "It's me – Kinchloe. Quiet down for a minute." 

Schultz didn't need to understand Russian to decipher the answer. Pasternak wanted out. Now.

"Sasha, calm down." Kinch tried for a soothing tone of voice. "Schultz will move you to a bigger cell. One with light and air and water. But only after you calm down." 

"I won't let the animal touch me." 

"He won't. No one will. You have my word." Kinch glanced hopefully at Schultz. "But you have to be quiet. Ok?" 

Sasha muttered an invective, but the volume was reduced. 

"Sasha?" 

"Da. I am quiet as rodent. Now get me out of here." Sasha's voice caught as he struggled for control. "Pazhalsta. I cause no more trouble." 

"Ok. Just hang in there for a minute. We'll get you to a bigger cell." Kinch stepped away from the door, gestured at the lock. 

Schultz fumbled for the key. He refused Kinch's silent offer to transfer the prisoner, gestured for the guard outside to assist him. He cautiously unlocked the door and pointed his gun at the belligerent man inside. "Hands on your head." 

"And your hands to yourself." Sasha seethed as he was herded to a cell across from Anders. "You animals will pay for everything you've done to us. My people will burn your country to the ground." 

"Sasha." Kinch stayed on alert until the bars clanged shut behind the Russian, then exhaled loudly. "You ok now?" 

"Da." Sasha collapsed onto the cot and buried his face in his arms. "Spasiba." 

"You're welcome." Kinch waited for a response, but Sasha seemed to have mentally dismissed them all. 

"He'll be alright now." Schultz whispered. "He's afraid of the other cell." 

"Then why put him in it?" 

"It's the rule. Dangerous prisoners go into the isolation cell until they calm down." Schultz waved away Kinch's rebuttal. "Sometimes I have to be on our side." 

"So the Red's yellow." Anders chuckled from his cell. "Figures." 

"He's claustrophobic." Kinch looked towards Sasha's cell. The Russian had curled up and was either asleep or oblivious. "I wouldn't harass him, Major. He has a long memory." 

"Are you threatening me, Sgt?" Anders was on his feet and at the bars. 

"No, sir." Kinch smiled marginally. "Just warning you." 

"Let me warn you, boy. I'm not Hogan." 

"No, sir." Kinch's voice grew cold. "You're not." 

"It's time to go." Schultz tugged Kinch away from Anders and out of the door. "You shouldn't upset the Major. He can make trouble for you." 

"I know." Kinch forced his temper under control. "Thanks, Schultz. You probably just saved me from getting court-martialed right there in the cooler." 

Schultz gave the man's shoulder a fatherly pat. "You behave while I'm gone. Maybe I'll bring you back a surprise." 

"Right." Kinch started automatically for his barracks, then halted. "What kind of surprise? Where are you going?" 

"Nein." Better not to raise the prisoners' hopes. Especially if all he returned with was Hogan's corpse. 

"You know you're no good at keeping secrets, Schultz." Kinch checked his pockets. "I'll bet I have something here…" 

Schultz shook his head. "As the Colonel always said – 'Mind the store' while I'm gone. Keep everyone out of trouble." 

Schultz felt Kinch watching him as he gathered Langenscheidt and headed for the staff car. He didn't like the idea of leaving the camp for so long while the prisoners were fighting among themselves, but Hogan was the only one who could get the situation back to normal. If he was still alive. 

* * * * 

There was nothing scenic about the trip to Moosburg. The road snaked through bomb-damaged towns populated by war-weary civilians. Twice they had to stop and take cover when air raid sirens warned of approaching planes. By the time they neared Moosburg, Langenscheidt was clutching the steering wheel tightly and staring anxiously down the road. 

"It's alright." Schultz tried to sound convincing. "We're very close to Stalag 7. We don't have to worry about Allied bombers anymore." 

"I know. It's just…" 

"Don't worry." Schultz patted the younger man's shoulder. "Even I have been afraid, once or twice." 

"Back in the last war?" 

"Oh, ja." Schultz laughed gently. "And in this one too." 

"Really?" Langenscheidt hazarded a glance at Schultz. "Even at Stalag 13?" 

Schultz snorted. "With all of the monkey business that goes on there and Gestapo agents lurking around in the shadows? Who wouldn't be afraid?" 

"Oberfeldwebel, there is something I must tell you…" 

"Ja?" Schultz didn't like the corporal's sudden seriousness. "You're not going to tell me that you're a Gestapo agent, are you?" 

Langenscheidt shook his head. "It's about my uncle. You know, the one in Berlin." 

Schultz knew. Everyone knew that the healthy young man was only stationed at Stalag 13 with the old and battle-fatigued guards because his uncle was a high-ranking member of the Nazi party. Since Karl never asked for special favors or refused any orders, he was accepted by the others. But they all knew why he was there. "What about him? Is he having your transferred to his office?" 

"Nein. He is…." Langenscheidt swallowed nervously. "I haven't heard from him in over a month." 

"Oh." Schultz suddenly understood Karl's apprehension. No high-ranking uncle, no post at Stalag 13. "I'm sorry. Maybe he's just busy with the war." 

"With all the bombing in Berlin…." 

"Maybe he's on vacation." Schultz attempted a light-hearted tone of voice. "In Paris with a beautiful fraulein." 

"He would send me a postcard." Langenscheidt's voice dropped. "What will the Kommandant do when he finds out my uncle is dead?" 

"Nothing. He wouldn't send you away." 

"Not even if he has orders?" 

"Well…" Schultz sighed. He liked the Kommandant, but he was realistic about his position. Klink was barely keeping himself from the Russian front. Without Hogan to keep the prisoners in line and to secretly bail the Colonel out of trouble, not even Klink could be certain of remaining at Stalag 13. "Karl, there is something I must tell you. But you must promise that it stays between us." 

"What is it?" Langenscheidt shot Schultz a curious glance. "You know I would never betray you, Oberfeldwebel." 

"You're a good boy, like my son Rudy." Schultz considered the risk, decided it was safe to continue. "You remember my son Rudy?" 

Langenscheidt stared guiltily out of the front window. "He was sent to the Russian front. Like I should have been." 

"He was sent to the Russian front, but he didn't arrive there." Schultz lowered his voice, though they were alone in a car in the middle of nowhere. "I have a friend. He helped Rudy get out of the country. Someday, if you need him, I'll introduce you to my friend." 

"You mean I should desert?"

Schultz steadied the wheel as Langenscheidt stared at him in amazement. "Right now, I think you should keep your eyes on the road. We will talk about the other thing someday in the future. If we have to." 

"But…." Langenscheidt returned his attention to the road. "You would not think the less of me if I talked to your friend?" 

Schultz gestured out his window at the ruined buildings that lined the road. "I wouldn't send my own boy to a pointless death, why would I send you?" 

"Danke. I will never forget this, Oberfeldwebel." 

"Keep your eyes on the road or neither of us will need to worry about the Russian front." Schultz tried to sound stern, but failed. He pointed to a signpost. "Stalag 7 is over there." 

Langenscheidt nodded, headed towards the camp. "It will be good to have Oberst Hogan back at Stalag 13." 

"Ja." Schultz stopped himself from adding, 'if he's alive.' If Hochstetter couldn't beat Hogan, neither could the elements. He hoped. He concentrated on that particular thought as he directed the corporal to park beside the camp office. 

Kommandant Burger barely looked up from his desk when they entered. Schultz held out his orders in what he hoped was a properly military manner. "Herr Kommandant, we have orders to transfer one of your prisoners to Stalag 13." 

"Take as many prisoners as you like." Burger gave Klink's signature a cursory glance. "My camp was already full to capacity. Now General Burkhalter sends me thousands --- thousands – of Allied officers. What am I to do with them?" 

"I'm sorry, Herr Oberst." Schultz used his best conciliatory tone. "I know you're busy. If you could just tell us where to find Colonel Hogan..." 

"Hogan?" Burger scoffed. "Do you expect me to know where one man is? I have thousands…" 

"Ja, Herr Kommandant, but this man is very sick. Perhaps you have a medic?" 

"If he's sick, check in the hospital tent. Or talk to the grave detail." 

"Jawohl. Danke." Schultz retrieved his orders and left Burger to his paperwork.

"Grave detail?" Langenscheidt trotted beside him as they left the office. 

Schultz shook his head. He hadn't come this far to retrieve a corpse. He paused on the porch to talk to a guard. "Bitte. Where is the hospital tent?" 

"You don't want to go there, Oberfeldwebel. Dysentery, cholera, pneumonia -- the new prisoners brought much illness with them." 

"I'm looking for an American Colonel."

"Spivey? He's in Barracks…." 

"His name is Hogan." Schultz repressed a smile. "He's always up to some monkey business. Perhaps he's in your cooler?" 

"Nein. The new prisoners are too tired to cause trouble. For now, at any rate." The guard pointed across the compound. "If you really want the hospital tent, it's back there. But no wise man would go there." 

"Danke." Schultz trudged down the stairs and headed across the compound. He didn't have to go far to realize that the camp was grossly overcrowded. The stench from the latrines alone told him that.

"All these prisoners." Langenscheidt whispered. "How do they keep so many under control?" 

"I don't want to think about it." Schultz shuddered at the thought of getting such an influx at Stalag 13. He didn't like the hard looks from the prisoners as they walked past them. He'd felt such hostility before, mostly from the Russians. But to have thousands of eyes glaring at him was unnerving. He was thankful when they reached the hospital tent. For a moment, at least. 

Rows of cots greeted them as they entered the makeshift hospital. All around them, men were coughing, retching and moaning. Schultz gestured for Langenscheidt to wait for him outside, but the corporal shook his head adamantly. He decided not to make an issue of it – he couldn't blame the younger man for not wanting to be alone in the compound. 

"Excuse me." Schultz struggled to get the attention of a harried British medic. "I'm looking for a sick man." 

The medic laughed bitterly. "Take your pick." 

"His name is Hogan." Schultz doggedly followed the man as he moved to a new patient. 

"Names mean nothing here. What's wrong with him? Frostbite, malnutrition, dysentery….?" 

"He was hurt by the Gestapo." Schultz automatically lowered his voice.

"Oh. Him." For the first time the medic stopped his work long enough to look at the Germans. "You won't be getting any information from that one. You might as well leave him be." 

"Nein. We don't want to hurt him. We just want to take him back to Stalag 13." Schultz dug his paperwork from his coat pocket. "We have orders." 

"He's in the far corner." The medic returned to his patient. "If you had any decency, you'd let him die in peace." 

Schultz mumbled his thanks and hurried past dozens of ill men to the farthest cots. He had spent time in a tent such as this in the last war. He knew all too well the triage system that shuffled the most severe cases to quiet, out-of –the way areas. 

"Oberfeldwebel." Langenscheidt tugged on Schultz' sleeve. "Over there." 

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz hurried to the man's cot. Hogan's eyes were closed. Schultz prayed that he was merely sleeping. "Wake up, Colonel. We've come to take you back to Stalag 13." 

"He looks very pale." Langenscheidt hovered beside the cot. 

"Colonel." Schultz laid his hand on the American's forehead. "He has a fever." 

"What do we do now?" 

"Go get the car and bring it as close as you can." Schultz smiled at the corporal's obvious reluctance. "Go on. The prisoners won't give you any trouble. You have a rifle." 

"Jawohl." 

Schultz knelt down beside Hogan's cot and gently shook the man. "Come on, Colonel. Wake up now." 

Hogan mumbled incoherently, but his eyes remained closed.

"It's me, Sgt Schultz. Come to take you home." Schultz pulled Hogan into a sitting position and gingerly lifted his shirt. He swore as he saw the old wounds that had become infected. 

"No." Hogan made a feeble attempt to push him away. 

"It's alright. Don't be afraid." Schultz moved into Hogan's line of vision. The man's eyes were open, but unfocused. "It's Schultz. I won't hurt you." 

"No."

"Look at me." Schultz gently lifted Hogan's chin. "It's Schultz."

Hogan struggled to break free, but Schultz easily restrained him. "It's alright, Colonel. You're sick. I'll take you back to your men. Close your eyes now." 

Schultz kept his grip on the man until he grew calm – or exhausted himself. Whatever the cause, Hogan suddenly fell silent and leaned against him. "That's right. Sleep now." 

"The car's right outside." Langenscheidt hurried to the cot, belatedly lowered his voice as he took in the situation. "Is he alright?" 

"We have to get him back to Stalag 13. His men will be able to help him." I hope, Schultz added to himself. He bundled Hogan in the blanket, glanced around the cot. "Do you see his jacket and his shoes?" 

Langenscheidt shook his head, checked under the cot. 

"Don't bother." A man on a nearby cot coughed. "Damn scavengers. Could have waited another day or so." 

"What does he mean?" Langenscheidt helped Schultz gather up Hogan. 

"In wartime, you should never take off your shoes. Remember that, Karl, if you ever find yourself on a battlefield." 

"Ja. I will."

Schultz hurried through the ersatz hospital, eager to be away from the death and suffering. Langenscheidt was close on his heels.

"Filthy buggers." The medic muttered at their backs.

Schultz ignored the comment. It was harder to ignore the American Colonel standing by their car. 

"Taking your mole home?" 

"Mole?" Langenscheidt turned to Schultz. "What is 'mole'?" 

"They think he's a spy." Schultz settled Hogan into the back seat of the car, turned cautiously to the enemy officer. "He's not an agent, Colonel. He was sent here to save him from the Gestapo." 

"Since when have you Krauts given a damn about a POW?" Spivey spotted a pair of camp guards approaching, took a few judicious steps away from the car. "I have a message for your mole, Sgt. Tell him that Col. Spivey remembers his name." 

Schultz nodded, though he had no intention of delivering the message. He slammed the back door shut and hurried Langenscheidt inside. He didn't even bother checking in with the Kommandant before they left camp. He doubted that Burger would even remember their arrival by the end of the day. As for himself, the sooner he forgot Stalag 7, the better. 

* * * * 


	10. Kinch

Kinch leaned against the wall of Barracks 7, his eyes on the group of men leaning against the wall of Barracks 2. It had become a game – watching each other watching each other. There had never been any discussion. Newkirk, LeBeau and he had simply drifted to Carter's barracks and taken up posts there. Just as Ander's yahoos had drifted outside to maintain their vigil. 

"Hey, look." Carter slipped outside to point at the front gate. "It's Schultz." 

"Back inside." Kinch didn't bother giving Carter another lecture about the necessity of staying in the doorway while he was restricted to barracks. He'd already reminded him a dozen times since lunch. 

"What's this now?" Newkirk pointed out Klink, who was crossing the compound to meet Schultz at the gate. "That's mighty peculiar." 

"Oui." LeBeau took a few steps from the barracks. "What did Schultz say about bringing you a surprise, Kinch?" 

"Just that." Kinch considered the odd spectacle at the gate. Klink leaned into the back seat of the car for a few moments, than climbed in and shut the door. The car continued through the gate and drove to the guest quarters. 

"What's the score?" Carter strayed from the shelter of the doorway. Schultz tugged a man wrapped in a blanket from the car and carried him quickly up the stairs to the guest quarters. Langenscheidt ran ahead to get the door, while Klink glanced in their direction before disappearing inside. "They took a man inside." 

"Brilliant, Andrew." Newkirk nudged Kinch. "You don't suppose the surprise is…" 

Kinch shook his head. "Why take him into the guest quarters?" 

"Because Klink doesn't want us to see what the filthy bosch have done to him." 

"Done to who?" Carter beamed as it came to him. "Colonel Hogan!" 

Kinch grabbed Carter before he could sprint across the compound. "You're restricted to your barracks." 

"That's not fair! I…" 

"Go inside." Kinch gave the young sergeant a firm push towards the door. "We'll tell you what's up." 

"Come on. What are we standing around here for?" 

Kinch started after Newkirk and LeBeau, then paused to take a quick look at the group outside of Barracks 2. He doubted that they'd cause any trouble for Carter now. They'd no doubt made the same deduction that the rest of them had. Still… "Stay inside and out of trouble, Carter. We'll be back soon." 

"Wait a minute!" 

Kinch ignored the plea, double-timed it across the compound. Langenscheidt waited for them on the bottom step of the guest quarters. 

"Nein." The corporal barred their way with his rifle. "No one goes inside." 

"What's it about, Langy?" Newkirk offered a cigarette bribe. "What's wrong with the governor?" 

"He's very…" Langenscheidt caught himself. "Nein. I know nothing." 

"That's Schultz's line." LeBeau tried to duck around the guard.

"We don't want to cause any trouble." Kinch employed his friendliest tone. "We just want to know how Colonel Hogan is." 

" I haven't seen Oberst Hogan since he went to Poland." 

"Now, Langy." Newkirk shook a finger at the guard. "Your Ma wouldn't want you telling a fib." 

"Fib?" Langenscheidt wrinkled his brow. "What is 'fib?'" 

"It means…" 

"Langenscheidt! Go get…" Klink stepped onto the porch, frowned at the prisoners. "Never mind. Sgt. Kinchloe, your Colonel has a fever. Do you still have any penicillin?" 

"Yes, sir." Kinch took a step forward. "Permission to see him, Kommandant?" 

"Bring the medicine. And clean clothes." Klink slipped back inside. 

"Yes, sir." Kinch mumbled as he turned to comply. He swore as he collided with another American. "Carter! I told you to stay in your barracks!" 

"Never mind that now." Newkirk tugged on Kinch's arm. "Come on." 

"Oui." LeBeau grabbed Kinch's other arm. 

"Alright, alright." Kinch brushed away his friends. "Where did you hide the penicillin, Newkirk?" 

"Where no Kraut will ever find it. I'll just nip off and get it." 

"Good. I'll get some clothes." Kinch caught Carter as he attempted to follow Newkirk and LeBeau. "You stay with me. You're still on restriction." 

"Aw, Kinch…" 

"Not now. I have enough to worry about." Kinch pulled the sergeant into the Negro barracks, parked him on a bunk as he searched for some decent clothes. There was a whole collection of sizes and styles in the tunnel, but he didn't have the time or the patience to go through Anders to get access to them. His own clothes would be too big for the Colonel, but they would have to do for the moment. He was halfway to the door when he remembered his shadow. "Come on, Andrew." 

"Kinch, are you…?" 

"No." Kinch laughed gently. "I'm not mad at you." 

"Good." Carter trailed after his friend. "The Colonel's gonna be ok, now. Right?" 

Kinch nodded automatically as he headed for the guest quarters. They found Newkirk and LeBeau waiting for them by the steps. 

"Halt." Langenscheidt blocked their way. "The Kommandant sent Sgt Kinchloe for medicine and clothes." 

"Right." Kinch held out the pants and shirt. "Klink's expecting us." 

Langenscheidt shook his head. "It does not take all four of you." 

"Sure, it does." Newkirk mimicked a pompous general. "This was a very dangerous assignment. Kinch had to carry the package, I had to watch the guard tower for overeager Krauts, LeBeau had to scan the perimeter for friendly fire from liberating soldiers and Carter had to watch our backs for retaliatory shots from Anders' men. It's a wonder we made it across the compound at all." 

"Now, if you don't mind, we're late." LeBeau wiggled past the guard and to the door. 

"Nein…" 

"You're doing a fine job." Kinch pointed at the fence. "You keep an eye out and let us know if you see any tanks coming." 

"Just give a whistle and we'll be right out." Carter gave the guard a friendly pat on the shoulder as he followed the others indoors. 

"Some days it's like fishing in a barrel." Newkirk paused in the living area as he heard Klink's voice from the other room. He waved the others to silence. 

"I'm not interested in your serial number." Klink grumbled. "I know it by heart." 

"He thinks he's with the Gestapo." Schultz spoke gravely. "Because you hurt him." 

"I didn't…" 

Kinch ignored Newkirk's 'wait' gesture, burst into the bedroom. Hogan was lying face down on the bed with Klink and Schultz beside him. Their commander was mumbling incoherently. 

"What did you do to him?" Kinch barely restrained himself from advancing on the Kommandant. 

"I did nothing." Klink hastily covered Hogan with a blanket. "He's delirious.

"We heard Schultz!" Newkirk glared at the German. "He said you hurt him." 

"Nein, nein." Schultz interposed himself between the angry prisoners and Klink. "Colonel Hogan has infected wounds. The Kommandant poured alcohol on them. He didn't mean to hurt him, but you have to kill the germs." 

"Oh. I…" Kinch took a centering breath. "I'm sorry, Kommandant. I thought…" 

"Ja, ja." Klink ignored the mumbled apology, leaned over Hogan. "Hochstetter is gone, Hogan. You're back at Stalag 13." 

"…13… tunnel safe?…" Hogan mumbled. 

Kinch froze. Newkirk was about to jump in with an explanation when Klink suddenly spoke in German. 

"You've been captured by the enemy, Colonel." 

Hogan instantly reverted to repeating his name, rank and serial number. 

"Alright, that's enough." Klink switched back to English. "You're safe. 

Sleep now." 

Kinch watched in amazement as Hogan calmed and finally grew silent. 

"Colonel Hogan has a fever." Klink quietly addressed the men. "He'll stay here until ….his condition changes." 

"Thank you, Kommandant. We appreciate your concern." Kinch came as close to the bed as Schultz would allow. "Can you tell us what happened at Stalag 3, sir?" 

"The prisoners at Stalag 3 were moved from Poland to Germany to protect them from enemy fire." 

"And to keep the Reds from liberating them." Newkirk mumbled under his breath. 

"It was a difficult transfer – there was no time to arrange transportation, the weather was bad, the guards unorganized…" Klink lost his command façade momentarily, quickly recovered it. "Hogan collapsed from fatigue." 

"Had nothing to do with the beating he got beforehand, I suppose." 

Kinch silenced Newkirk with a look. "I'd like to request permission to stay with the Colonel until he recovers, sir." 

"Me too." Carter piped up. 

"Oui." 

"Count me in too, Kommandant." 

"Sgt Kinchloe can stay. It doesn't take four of you to take care of one man." 

"Begging the Kommandant's pardon, sir." Newkirk spoke in a stage whisper. "You have no idea what our Colonel's like when he's sick. He's a regular bear. Leaving poor Kinch alone with him would be cruel and inhuman punishment." 

"Mon Colonel will starve to death if you leave him with Kinch." LeBeau wrinkled his nose. "All he can cook is Spam." 

"And someone has to protect the Colonel from the guards while he's sick." Carter tried to look serious. "You never know when Schultz is going to go crazy and start shooting everyone in sight." 

"Me?" Schultz shook his head. "I would never shoot you boys." 

"Schultz!" Klink sighed in resignation. "Alright, the four of you can stay. But only until his fever breaks – then all of you are back to your barracks before Hogan gets too comfortable here. He is not turning my guest quarters into his private residence." 

"Kommandant…" Newkirk grinned. "Would our Colonel do something like that?" 

"Yes, he would." Klink frowned at his sleeping prisoner. "Give him an inch and that troublemaker will take over the camp." 

"Don't worry, sir." Kinch used his most reassuring tone. "None of us will give you any trouble."

"See that you don't or it'll be the cooler for all of you, including Hogan." Klink growled. He started for the door, then paused. "Schultz, take a few men and inspect Barracks 2 for tunnels." 

"But Colonel Hogan was just rambling from the fever…." Schultz caught Klink's glare, hastily saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." 

Kinch waited until he heard the door close behind the Germans, then quickly examined Hogan. 

"Well?" LeBeau crouched beside the bed. "How is he?" 

"Klink did clean up some infected wounds. Looks like he changed the wrapping on his ribs too." Kinch felt Hogan's forehead. "He's got a fever, but the penicillin should take care of that. He should be ok if we can keep him in bed." 

"It's going to take chains to do that." Newkirk stretched, felt some of the tension of the last few days slip away. "I can't wait until the governor's on his feet again and meets our charming Major Anders." 

"I'm looking forward to that myself." Kinch administered a dose of penicillin as carefully as he could. He was amazed –and concerned – when Hogan slept through the shot. "Ok, guys, we're going to need some provisions if we're going to bunk here tonight." 

"I'll make us a magnificent meal to celebrate mon Colonel's return." LeBeau slapped Carter's arm. "Come on, Andre. You can help me gather supplies." 

"Ok." Carter cheerfully followed the Frenchman. He halted by the door. "Is it ok to go, Kinch?" 

"I guess. Klink didn't say anything about you being here." Kinch shrugged. "Go on. Remember to bring some extra blankets." 

"And some cards and a couple bottles of wine." Newkirk rubbed his hands as Carter and LeBeau left on their errand. "Everything's ok with the Colonel, Kinch?" 

"I think so." Kinch buried Hogan in blankets and quietly took a seat by the bed. 

"Good. Then you can find me soaking in the guest bathtub. Tell LeBeau to send in a bottle of wine as soon as he gets back. Nothing too fancy – an unassuming Chablis should be fine." Newkirk ignored Kinch's retort as he retreated.

* * * * 

Kinch listened to the sounds of roll call, dimly aware that Klink no doubt expected to see the four of them outside. But the night had been a long one – full of cards, barely-fermented wine and arguments over whose turn it was to use the tub and who got to sleep on the couch. Their emotions had ricocheted throughout the evening between concern about the Colonel's fever and celebration of their reunion. He didn't have the heart to wake the three sleeping in the other room and he refused to leave the one sleeping on the bed beside him. 

For the umpteenth time he laid his hand on Hogan's forehead. He was still too warm, despite three doses of penicillin since his return. The Colonel had woken periodically during the night, but had never stayed awake long. His location – whether in Poland, Moosburg, Stalag 13, London or Cleveland – had been his main interest. Hochstetter's location had also been uppermost on his mind. Once informed of those two bits of information, the officer tended to drift back to sleep. 

Kinch yawned and slouched down in his chair. He could probably grab a few hours of sack time once the others were awake, but he was reluctant to leave his post. Hogan's incoherent mumbling was oddly comforting to him. It offered hope – not only that their commander was too stubborn to die, but that their operation would continue and their team would endure until the fall of the Third Reich. 

Beyond that event, he refused to think. He hadn't really comprehended until Anders' arrival just how lousy it was going to feel to return to the restricted life he'd known in the States. Before Stalag 13, being treated differently because of his race had seemed an inescapable fact of life. But now – having tasted the forbidden fruit of equality – he didn't think he'd be so willing to return to his old skin once he returned home. There would have to be some changes in his country, of that he was certain. 

He took a breath and forced the rebellious thoughts away. One war at a time, as Hogan was fond of saying. For the moment, keeping the Colonel alive, the operation afloat and his friends out of trouble was more than enough to occupy his thoughts. 

Noise from the other room brought Kinch to his feet. Klink had obviously shown up to rant about roll call, but it didn't sound serious. Still, maybe he should…

"Kinch…" 

"Here." Kinch returned to the bed as Hogan was struggling to sit up. "Easy. Everything's ok." 

"Klink?" 

"He's just letting off steam, Colonel. We missed roll call." Kinch easily restrained Hogan. "Lie back. You don't have to go anywhere." 

Hogan mumbled in argument, but allowed himself to be pushed back onto the bed. "Stalag 13?" 

"Right." Kinch chuckled softly. "Good job, sir. You got that on the first try." 

"So hot." Hogan tugged at his shirt. "Open window." 

"I don't think so." Kinch caught Hogan's hands, though he didn't appear to have the dexterity to open the shirt buttons. "It's February."

"Hot." 

"I know, but…" Kinch turned as the door opened. "Kommandant." 

Klink dismissed Kinch with a curt nod. "How are you feeling, Colonel?" 

"Hot." Hogan wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Against Geneva Convention." 

"You can file a report with the Red Cross." Klink felt Hogan's forehead. "You still have a fever. You need to rest." 

"Need schnapps." Just a hint of the old charm had seeped back into Hogan's voice. 

"Prisoners of war are forbidden to have alcohol, Colonel. You know that." 

Klink's formal tone made Kinch look up, just as Anders brushed past Newkirk to enter the room. 

"Colonel Robert Hogan." Klink gestured to the newcomer. "Major John Anders, acting senior POW." 

Hogan shot a glance at Kinch, who quickly shook his head. He only hoped that the Colonel was recovered enough to be able to censor what he was saying. "Major." 

"Colonel." Anders declined to shake the hand Hogan offered, nodded an acknowledgement instead. "I understand you've had a rough time lately. I hope you're feeling better." 

"On my feet in no time." Hogan shot a hopeful glance at the window. 

"Here, mon Colonel." LeBeau slid through the huddle of officers with a glass of water. 

"Thanks." Hogan spilled most of the water on himself. He finally relented and allowed LeBeau to help him drink. 

"There, Major – you see for yourself that Colonel Hogan is alive and cared for. Now if you don't mind… "Klink gestured to the door. 

"I'd like to talk to him privately." Anders stared down Klink. 

Klink sputtered a useless threat, then signaled Kinch to see him to the door. 

"Kommandant?" Kinch grudgingly stepped onto the porch with Klink. "Is there a problem?" 

"Give this to your Colonel when Anders is gone." Klink produced a small bottle of schnapps from his coat pocket. "It's for the pain." 

"Thank you, sir." Kinch dropped the contraband into his pocket, snapped off a salute and hurried back inside. 

"I've been ordered by London to destroy the ammo depot outside of town." Anders' voice was less than discreet. "I need your explosives man." 

Kinch arrived at the bed in time to see the silent plea that Carter shot Hogan. The Colonel seemed to have caught the look, but seemed confused as to its interpretation. 

"Carter's a little nervous about going out alone." Kinch prayed that Hogan was more together than he appeared. 

Hogan glanced from defiant man to defiant man. "Carter's never worked solo, Major. You'll have to take Kinch and Newkirk with you." 

"I have my own team, Colonel." Anders glowered at Hogan's men. "I just need Carter." 

"Sorry." Hogan seemed to be concentrating on every word he said. "Matched set. All or nothing." 

"If that's your policy, Colonel." Anders produced a half-hearted salute. "I'll get the details to your boy later." 

"What?" Hogan turned to Kinch as the door slammed on Anders. 

"Nothing, sir. I'll explain it all later." Kinch kept his tone neutral as he settled Hogan back in bed. "Take it easy while we find you some breakfast." 

"Open window." Hogan mumbled as he closed his eyes and buried his face in his arms.

"Yes, sir." Kinch whispered as Hogan drifted off again. "In a month or so." 

* * * 


	11. LeBeau

"Some for DeGaulle and some for Roosevelt..." 

"LeBeau…" 

"Go on." LeBeau steadied the mug of soup for Hogan. "Now a sip for Churchill and one for Stalin." 

"Louie…" Hogan's growl dissolved into a laugh. "If you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to dump this all over you." 

"More than you already have?" LeBeau chuckled softly. "And I thought the others had dangerous duty today." 

"Very funny." Hogan drained the mug with a flourish. "There. Now I've let you pester me into showering and eating. When are you going to tell me about this new major?" 

"Major? What new major?" LeBeau smiled innocently. "You have a fever, mon Colonel. I know nothing of any.."

"Corporal…." 

"Ok." LeBeau grew serious. "Major Anders is a pig. If the Gestapo came for him, the whole camp would dance for joy." 

"That bad, huh?" Hogan leaned back against his headboard. "What'd he do that's so horrible?" 

"He says the French are cowards, the English are fairies and you do not want to know what he says about the Negroes." 

"I can guess. There are plenty like him in the Army." Hogan frowned. "He's been hard on Kinch, huh?" 

LeBeau snorted. 

"What's his beef with Carter? This isn't some nonsense about him being Sioux, is it? Carter could pass for an Aryan." 

"Oui, but he cannot pass for a killer." LeBeau couldn't resist a small smile. "His last commander promised him he only had to blow up bad guys." 

"He didn't argue with Anders, did he?" 

"Argue, non. Refuse a direct order, oui." 

"Carter!" Hogan sighed. "I swear one of these days I'm giving him to the Navy." 

"Major Anders says he's going to have him court-martialed." 

"He's not court-martialling anyone." Hogan grinned mischievously. "Though I might let Little Deer stew for a bit." 

"This Anders has no sense of humor, mon Colonel. He will have his revenge on Andre." 

"Not while I'm still alive." Hogan patted LeBeau's shoulder. "Don't worry. I've got everything under control." 

LeBeau resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He would follow his Colonel to the gates of Hell and beyond, but even he had to admit that Hogan didn't present much of a threat at the moment. True, he was finally able to carry on a coherent conversation, but showering had been a major feat for him. If he was no longer lying at death's door, he had only managed to crawl a few feet away. The thought of the man falling into enemy hands while he was so weak was enough to make LeBeau shudder.

"LeBeau? You ok? 

LeBeau shoved away the sight of Hogan in Hochstetter's hands. "There is something I must tell you, Colonel." 

"What's that?" 

"I…" LeBeau took a deep breath. It was too late to turn back now. "When you were in the cooler…when Kinch was sick and Kommandant Klink came to see you…." 

"You were eavesdropping on me, weren't you?" 

LeBeau nodded reluctantly. 

"Did you really think I'd gone traitor?"

"Je regrette, mon Colonel. I should never have doubted you." 

"Serves you right for sneaking around like that." Hogan laughed gently. "You idiots are supposed to be spying on the Krauts, not me. I should have Klink toss all of you into the cooler until the end of the war." 

"All of us?" LeBeau shook his head. "The others weren't there, Colonel. Only Schultz." 

"You may have been the only one lurking in the cooler that day, but you're not the only spy I've had trouble with." Hogan sighed dramatically. "It's getting so Carter is the only one I can trust. And that's just because he can't keep a poker face around me." 

"But…." LeBeau broke off as Hogan tensed. For a moment he thought the officer was going to be sick, but then he realized that Hogan was reacting to the sound of heavy boots on the porch. He'd seen the behavior before – in his Resistance comrades who'd survived Gestapo interrogations. He hurried to check the other room. "It's the Kommandant." 

Hogan nodded, hurriedly fabricated a carefree smile. 

"Colonel." Klink nodded a greeting as he entered the bedroom. "You're looking better today." 

"That's all LeBeau's doing. He's spent most of the morning trying to make me presentable." 

"He still has some work to do." Klink felt Hogan's forehead. "Your fever is down." 

"I suppose that means you're kicking me out into the cold." Hogan broke into a martyred diatribe. "It's bad enough you make me march halfway across Germany, but now…"  
"You'll continue to stay here, Colonel." 

"You just wait until…" Hogan paused, genuinely surprised. "You're not kicking me out?" 

"Your fever is down, but you're still too ill to be back in your barracks." 

"Oh…uh…well…Thank you, Kommandant. " 

"Ja." Klink waved away Hogan's gratitude. "I would only have to deal with the inevitable squabbles between you and Major Anders." 

"Yeah. About him." Hogan winked at LeBeau. "Now that I'm back, isn't it time you shipped him out?" 

"Colonel Hogan, it may surprise you to learn this, but I have better things to do with my time than shuffle Allied officers from camp to camp. You'll just have to learn to get along with the Major." 

"Can't get permission for another transfer, huh?" Hogan grinned at Klink's obvious annoyance. "Anyway, I'm going out of my way to be nice to him. Didn't I send Carter, Newkirk and Kinch out on his work detail today?" 

"Yes, you did. And why you did – and why they went – I don't know. And I don't want to know." Klink met Hogan's eyes. "I want my camp to be orderly again, Hogan. Is that clear?" 

"Of course, Kommandant." Hogan smiled innocently. "Trust me." 

"Trust you." Klink scoffed. 

"Look what I have to put up with." Hogan addressed LeBeau. "And while the Grim Reaper is hovering above my bed, no less." 

"I feel sorry for any Reaper that has to deal with you." Klink stepped away from the bed, then doubled back. "Oh, Hogan -- you'll be glad to know that Schultz didn't find any tunnels in Barracks 2." 

"I didn't know he was looking for any. Was he on a scavenger hunt?" 

"You were mumbling about a tunnel while you were feverish. I told him to investigate." 

"A tunnel?" Hogan shrugged. "I must have been talking about the one I was working on back at Stalag 3. I only had a spoon to dig with, but I'd already gotten 6 inches deep by the time the Reds showed up. I would've tunneled my way out in 2, 3 years tops." 

"I see. Then it won't bother you to learn that I've doubled the guards in the woods." 

"You have no faith in me, Kommandant." 

"That's very true." Klink searched in his coat pocket. "By the way, the Red Cross sent this while you were gone. I suggest you put it on – especially if you're planning any foolhardy escape attempts." 

"I tell you…." Hogan froze as Klink held out the replacement ID tags. "But Hochstetter…" 

"I requested a new set from the Red Cross." Klink frowned as the American closed his eyes and bit his lip. "Hogan? Are you alright?" 

"Don't touch him." LeBeau blocked Klink as he attempted to draw closer. "You animals have done enough to him." 

Klink brushed LeBeau away. 

"You will not go near him." LeBeau set his jaw and clenched his fists.

"LeBeau." Hogan shook himself back to reality, took the tags from Klink. "Thanks, Kommandant. I appreciate it." 

"Ja….I …" Klink watched awkwardly as Hogan slipped the chain around his neck. "Hochstetter is gone and his replacement has no reason to suspect you of anything. We shouldn't have any more trouble from the Gestapo." 

Hogan nodded as he pulled LeBeau away from the German. "You won't have any more trouble from my men either." 

"Let us hope not." Klink glowered at LeBeau. "Or there will be reprisals." 

"You have my word." Hogan fingered his dog tags absently. "I want peace and quiet right now as much as you do." 

"He should rest." LeBeau barely maintained a civil tone. "He's still very sick." 

"Of course." Klink nodded formally. "Colonel." 

Hogan did his best to bid Klink a normal-sounding good-bye. 

"Filthy Bosch. He will not touch you again." 

"LeBeau…" 

"He has no right. He did nothing when Hochstetter came for you and now he thinks he can make up for it by replacing your dog tags." LeBeau cursed the absent German. "He's no better than the filthy animals who raped and looted Paris." 

"Look, I know how you feel…" 

"No, you don't. No one is marching down the streets of Washington." 

"Ok, you're right." Hogan sought a more conciliatory tone. "But we need to keep Klink in power and on our side in order to keep the operation going. In order to free Paris. Right?" 

LeBeau grudgingly agreed. "But he is still an animal and I will never trust him." 

"Fine." Hogan used his command voice. "As long as you don't antagonize him." 

"Oui. For Paris. And for you." 

"Good." Hogan settled into a more comfortable position. "Now, Corporal – tell me what happened to Major Hochstetter." 

LeBeau did his best to distract Hogan from the topic by fussing with his blanket and offering to make him more soup. His evasion only made Hogan more suspicious. 

"LeBeau." Hogan caught the Frenchman's arm. "What did you guys do?" 

LeBeau tried to avoid eye contact, but Hogan lifted his chin until they were face-to-face. 

"I'm waiting, Louie." 

"Ah, oui." LeBeau took a seat on the bed. "It's a long story, mon Colonel." 

* * *

LeBeau stepped onto the porch, carefully propped the door open an inch. 

"How is the Oberst?" Langenscheidt glanced over from his post. 

"Sleeping." LeBeau held a finger to his lips. He leaned over the railing, hoping to avoid any further discussion with the guard. On a good day, he found coexisting with Germans difficult. Today, he found it nearly impossible. 

"The Kommandant will be glad when he's feeling better." Langenscheidt didn't seem to notice that he was being ignored. "He felt awful about what Hochstetter did." 

"Not awful enough to stop him." 

"How do you stop the Gestapo?" 

"With a gun." LeBeau tried to rein in his anger. Alienating the German corporal would accomplish nothing and could ultimately affect the success of their missions. It'd also earn him another lecture from the Colonel.

"Hey, Louie." 

LeBeau glanced up, chagrined that he hadn't seen his friends approaching. Letting his emotions cloud his perceptions could be lethal in their line of work. 

"How's the governor?" Newkirk grinned as he took the steps. "He kick you out?" 

"He's sleeping." LeBeau tried to sound nonchalant. "How'd the work detail go?" 

"As well as could be expected." Kinch shrugged. "Anders does know his job." 

"Guess that's why Lon…." Carter broke off with a quick glance at Langenscheidt. 

Kinch frowned at Carter, who had the sense to look apologetic. "Let's go inside. It's too cold out here for chit-chat." 

"Right." Newkirk shoved Carter towards the door. 

LeBeau eagerly joined the others in the living room. "Well?" 

"We planted the bombs." Kinch whispered. "They should go off during roll call tonight." 

"Good." LeBeau took in his friends' somber expressions. "Did anything go wrong?" 

"That Anders is a piece of work, he is." Newkirk glanced towards the closed bedroom door. "The Colonel bloody well better be up soon – before I punch the blighter in the mouth." 

"Boy, he's right. Kinch had to keep putting his hand over Newkirk's mouth to keep him from talking back to the Major." Carter turned to the radioman. "I don't know why you didn't get mad. It's not right all the things the Major said about you." 

"It's nothing I haven't heard before." Kinch sounded exhausted. "You learn to keep quiet if you want to stay alive." 

"Kinch!" Carter looked horrified. "You don't think the Major…" 

"No." Kinch mentally shook himself. "Never mind. I'm just tired and feeling sorry for myself. Everything'll be fine once the Colonel's back in charge." 

LeBeau followed Kinch's gaze to Hogan's door. So much depended on the Colonel. Like the others, he fully expected the officer to rise from his bed any moment and continue with business as usual. He felt like a Judas for voicing the fear that had been nagging at the back of his mind. "We must be prepared….Colonel Hogan may not be himself…" 

"What do you mean?" Carter had to be reminded to keep his voice down. 

"I just…" LeBeau saw the same guilty concern in Kinch's eyes. Newkirk stared stubbornly at the floor. "I've had friends who were tortured. Afterwards, they were….different. They jumped at loud noises or if you touched them unexpectedly…" 

"Well, nothing's wrong with Colonel Hogan." Carter laughed nervously. "Boy, you won't catch him being scared. Not even a little." 

"No one's saying he's afraid, Carter." Kinch kept a wary eye on the bedroom door. "We just might have to give him a little more space, that's all. Just try to remember that he's been though an awful lot lately. Even when his wounds heal, he may still be hurting inside." 

"There's nothing wrong with him." Carter shook his head adamantly. "There isn't." 

"Carter…." Newkirk sighed loudly. "What's the use? You can't expect someone from Bull Frog to understand a bastard like Hochstetter." 

"Oui. Leave him be." LeBeau forced himself to his feet. "I'll make dinner." 

"I'll check on the Colonel." Kinch looked as though he wanted to say something to Carter, but he merely shook his head and disappeared into the bedroom. 

"I'm having a quick soak." Newkirk ducked into the bathroom.

"He'll be ok. You'll see. Nothing stops the Colonel." Carter suddenly realized that he was alone and abandoned his monologue. He sat in the awkward silence for a moment, before a thought occurred to him. "Hey, Newkirk! No fair! I called dibs on the tub." 

If Newkirk heard him, he expressed absolutely no remorse. 

* * * 


	12. Carter

Carter drained the tub and hummed as he dressed. It was amazing how little things that he'd taken for granted back home – like lazing in a warm bath – had taken on a whole new meaning here. It was too bad that the Kommandant had disconnected the phone and taken the radio or they could all pretend they were in a fancy hotel. Still, it was nice just being with his friends again. And having the Colonel back where he belonged.

He yawned as he slipped into the living room. He was debating with himself if he'd rather play a game of gin with Newkirk or grab a nap on the floor by the fireplace when he realized that his friends were all staring at him. "Something wrong?"   
"You could say that." Kinch suppressed a grin. "The Colonel's awake. He wants to see Private Carter ASAP." 

"Private?" Carter couldn't help glancing at the stripes on his shoulder. "He must still have a fever." 

"I don't think so." Kinch nodded towards Hogan's door. "Better get going while you still have any rank left." 

"Jeez." Carter ran his fingers through his wet hair. "Do you think this is about me and Major Anders?" 

Newkirk laughed. LeBeau rolled his eyes. Kinch shoved him towards the Colonel's room. He cautiously knocked on the door. With any luck at all Colonel Hogan had fallen back to sleep. 

"Come." 

"Colonel?" Carter peeked into the room. "You wanted to see me, sir?" 

"Come in and close the door." 

"Oh, jeez." Carter knew he'd screwed up really bad this time. "Colonel, I can explain…" 

"Not while you're standing at attention, you can't." 

"But…" Carter took one look at Hogan's expression and snapped into his best military stance. 

"Now then, Private." Hogan stood carefully, and strode up to Carter. "I hear you've been insubordinate." 

"Well, I…" 

"I hear you disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer." 

"I…" 

"I hear you're going to be spending the rest of your life in Leavenworth. If you manage to avoid a firing squad." 

"A firing squad?" Carter swallowed hard. "Jeez, Colonel, you gotta help me." 

Hogan shook his head, paced in a tight circle around the sergeant. "An army runs on a chain of command, Carter. Forget that and you deserve to be shot." 

"But, Colonel…." 

"If I can't trust you to follow orders, I'm going to have to replace you." Hogan leaned against the wall as casually as he could. "I think I'll talk to Sasha. He strikes me as a man who would like setting off explosives." 

"Sasha?! But you said we could never show him the tunnel because he'd lead a mass escape." 

"You haven't left me any choice, have you? I won't have an insubordinate team member." 

"Please, Colonel. Give me another chance. I would never disobey one of your orders. But Major Anders isn't like you. He doesn't care who my bombs kill." 

"You don't seem to understand how the military works, Sgt. You have to obey anyone who outranks you." 

"But not if they order you to do things that are wrong. You said that Hitler couldn't stay in power if his generals didn't support him. You said…." 

"Anders isn't Hitler. And I never said you should take on every racist bastard that crawls into camp." 

"It's not right how he treats Kinch. You gave orders that all Allied prisoners get treated the same. You said we're here to fight the Master Race, not to be the Master Race." 

"Carter…" 

"I know I was out of line, sir, but sometimes you have to be wrong to be right. That's what my mom always says, anyway." Carter took a deep breath. "I understand if you have to court martial me, sir, but I hope you don't hate me now. I don't think I could stand that." 

"Carter…" Hogan threw his hands up in surrender, retreated to his bed. "I give up. I'm giving you to the Navy. Maybe a good flogging will straighten you out." 

"I'm really, really sorry, Colonel. I promise it'll never happen again." 

"You promise that the next time I get slapped around by the Gestapo and Klink ships me across the country, you'll obey your new commanding officer? That's certainly a comfort." Hogan laughed dryly. "Alright, Carter. I won't turn you over to Anders for disciplinary measures this time, but screw up again and I'll make you wish Anders was your commander." 

"Thank you, sir. I won't cause any more trouble. You have my word. "

"At ease, Sgt." Hogan leaned against the headboard and massaged his temples. 

Carter took the chair next to the bed and studied his commander with concern. The Colonel had never let him off this easily before and the officer could generally be heard back in London when he was disciplining someone – at least, that was the joke among the guys. 

"Think you'll recognize me next time you see me?" 

"Huh?" 

"Why are you staring at me?" 

"Oh. I don't know. I just wondered if you felt ok." 

"I'm just tired." Hogan playfully slapped the younger man. "Give me a few more days to rest up and I'll give you a proper dressing down." 

"Oh, good." Carter lost his smile. "Really, Colonel – Are you ok? The guys say…" 

"What?" Hogan bristled. "That I broke?" 

"Oh no, sir." Carter shook his head vigorously. "No one would ever say that. Honest." 

"Sorry." Hogan closed his eyes while he regained control. "What do the fellas say?" 

"Just that everyone has trouble after they've been with the Gestapo." Carter leaned forward nervously. "I guess it was pretty bad, huh? What they did?" 

"It wasn't exactly a cake walk, but I'll be ok. I just have to get all the balls back in the air again." 

"Huh?" 

"Luftwaffe, Gestapo, Underground, Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill, DeGaulle…." Hogan pantomimed juggling. " Once you let the balls drop, it's hard to get them all going again." 

"Oh, yeah." Carter grinned. "I get it." 

"Good. Now, do you want to do something to help me?" 

"You got it, boy. Sir. I'll do anything you want." 

"Anything?" Hogan grinned as Carter nodded. "I want you to keep Sgt Carter from irritating Major Anders. Do you think you can do that for me? Just until I'm back on my feet?" 

Carter colored. "Oh, right sir. Can do." 

"Great." Hogan winked. "I'll see what I can do to keep Anders from putting you up against the wall." 

"Thanks, Colonel." Carter was tempted to hug the officer, but he knew that wouldn't go over well. Instead he saluted. 

"Kinch!" Hogan shouted, bringing his adjutant a moment later. "Little Deer's on KP for ninety days." 

"Ninety days!" Carter glanced to Kinch, saw no help there. "Ah, jeez." 

"And if he gives you anymore trouble, feel free to take him out back and shoot him." 

"Yes, sir." Kinch did his best to keep a straight face. "Do you want that to be a clean shot to the head or a slow, agonizing one to the gut?" 

"Your choice." Hogan gestured towards the door. "Now, everyone out. It's time for my nap." 

"Right." Kinch tugged Carter to his feet and started him for the door. 

"Oh, Carter." 

"Sir?" Carter glanced back, hoping he wasn't going to end up with latrine duty on top of KP. 

"I heard about you and Hochstetter. Good job." 

"Gee, thanks. You know I was afraid…" Carter didn't get a chance to finish before he was summarily yanked into the next room. 

"So?" Newkirk looked up from a game of solitaire. 

"Ninety days KP." Carter kicked a wayward pair of boots out of his way. 

"That's all?" LeBeau scoffed. 

"You could have gotten a lot worse." Kinch slapped Carter on the back. "I'd say you should count your blessings." 

"I guess so." Carter glanced from his friends to Hogan's door. "I don't think he feels good enough to do a lot of yelling." 

"Lucky for you." Newkirk stretched. " I'm going out on the porch for a smoke." 

"It's after curfew." Kinch went to the window. "Who's on duty tonight?" 

"Just old Schultzie." Newkirk slapped on his cap. "Nothing to worry about." 

Kinch made a noncommittal sound and joined LeBeau in front of the fireplace. 

Carter slipped outside behind Newkirk. 

"Don't you have dishes to wash?" 

"I will." Carter leaned against the railing beside the Briton. 

"Don't shoot, Schultz." Newkirk waved his arms before the half-asleep guard. "It's just us." 

"What?" Schultz shook himself awake. "You boys should be inside." 

"We're on the porch. That's part of the building." 

"You're on the porch and you're outside and…" Schultz shook his head. "Just see that there's no monkey business." 

"You have my solemn word." Newkirk crossed his heart. 

"The stars are sure pretty tonight." Carter stared at the winter sky. "Sometimes it's hard to remember there's a war going on." 

"Are you balmy? We're surrounded by barbed wire and guards. Where do you think we are? At church camp?" 

Carter couldn't explain how he felt. Everything just seemed right again. Especially now that he didn't have to worry about being shot.

"Ninety days KP. Anders is gonna blow his cork." 

"I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. I hope the Major isn't going to be too mad." 

"Don't worry. The governor'll sort him out." Newkirk chuckled. "The way things are going, the war may end while you're still washing dishes." 

"Really? You think we're that close?" 

"Look what's going on – you Yanks are bombing all day, the RAF all night… the Reds have broken through to Poland…." Newkirk flicked his cigarette butt over the railing. "Then there's the really big signs." 

"Like what?" 

"Like the Bald Eagle letting Sasha and Major Anders out of the cooler. And ordering the Russian barracks to be fixed up. Not to mention sending Schultz to bring the governor back here." Newkirk scowled in the direction of the Kommandant's quarters. "You don't think he's letting Colonel Hogan stay in the guest quarters just to be nice, do you?" 

Carter shrugged. "The Kommandant's not so bad. He follows the Geneva Convention." 

Newkirk rolled his eyes. 

Carter decided to drop the subject. His mouth had gotten him into enough trouble lately. "So what are you gonna do after the war?" 

"Me? Oh, I don't know. I'll have my back pay. I'm thinking of starting a pool hall or a pub. Maybe I'll hire Louie to cook fish and chips." 

"But Louie hates English food." 

"That's why it's such a good joke, you bloody oaf." Newkirk swatted Carter with his cap. "What about you? Is there much call for sabotage experts in Bullfrog?" 

"Not really. I was kind of hoping…." Carter broke off with a sigh. " Kinch says it won't happen." 

"What won't?"

"Nothing. I just thought…" Carter glanced wistfully at the door. 

"You want to work for the governor? Is that it?" Newkirk shook his head, just as Kinch always did. "He'll have bright young lieutenants to run his errands for him once he's home." 

"Yeah, I know. Kinch says things will be different after the war." 

"Right, but if it's a military post you want, I'm sure the Colonel will help you find a good one." Newkirk nudged him. "One with plenty of sun and lots of pretty birds." 

"Maybe." Carter watched Schultz struggling to stay alert. "What do you think will happen to poor Schultz after the war? And the Kommandant?" 

"Schultz won't have any trouble. He's just a lowly sergeant obeying orders. But the Bald Eagle…." Newkirk grinned. "He'll be going to a POW camp. Or to prison. And it'll be good riddance to him, I say." 

"I don't know. He's not so bad." 

Newkirk rolled his eyes. 

"I just mean…." Carter was interrupted by an air raid siren. 

"What'd I tell you? Hitler'll be on his knees any day now." Newkirk had to raise his voice above the drone of approaching RAF planes. 

"Shouldn't we get inside?" 

"And miss the show?" Newkirk waved at the planes, undaunted by the fact that the pilots couldn't possibly see him. He growled as the guards shot their rifles at the passing formation. "Bloody bastards." 

"Why do they do always do that?" Carter considered the guard tower. "They'll never hit anyone."

"Hope springs eternal, I suppose." 

"You boys get inside." Schultz gestured excitedly at Klink's quarters. "The Kommandant will see you." 

Klink was standing on his porch, looking not at the sky, but at them. Carter was amazed when the German executed a quick salute and went back into his quarters. 

"Why'd he salute us?" 

Newkirk laughed and turned Carter around until he was face-to-face with Hogan. 

"Oh." Carter grinned. "I get it." 

"Don't you guys have enough sense to come in out of an air raid?" Hogan shooed them towards the door. "You've got a stack of dishes waiting for you, Carter." 

"Right, sir. On my way." Carter headed for the kitchen. LeBeau had cooked a really great meal and had left a really great mess behind him. Carter suspected that the Colonel had given the Frenchman advance notice of who would be cleaning up. He shrugged and cracked open the window above the sink a bit. He could hear the Colonel joking with Schultz on the porch and Newkirk starting a card game in the living room. He couldn't keep from whistling as he tackled the stack of dishes. 

* * * * 


	13. Klink

"The enlisted men follow your example. If you're late for roll call, they will be too. If you can't control them, I'll be forced to do so myself." Klink glowered at the man who was leaning nonchalantly against his desk. He'd given this same lecture numerous times before, but never had he been so prepared to follow through with his threat. He would have order in his camp again. One way or another.

"Discipline away, Kommandant. It'll make it all the sweeter when you're groveling at my feet." 

"Major…" Klink paused as the sound of feminine laughter echoed from the outer office. If the cause was what he thought it was, the guard at the outside door was going on report for failure to recognize the enemy. "Schultz, see what that's about." 

"Jawohl." Schultz dutifully peeked around the door. "Shh. The Kommandant is busy. …..Jolly joker…..No more monkey business out here." 

"Schultz!" Klink forced himself to remain at his desk. "Is that Hogan?" 

"Is that Hogan? Let me see." Schultz glanced into the next room again. 

"Schultz!" Klink brushed past the guard and flung the door open. Hogan sat sedately – and quite innocently – on a chair. 

"Morning, Kommandant." 

"What are you doing here? You were too ill to make it to roll call." 

"Yeah, but I feel much better now." Hogan ambled to his feet and snapped off a salute. "Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW, reporting." 

"Come inside." Klink waved the man to a chair beside Anders. "I believe you know Major Anders." 

"Major." Hogan nodded a greeting. "I'm afraid I wasn't at my best last time we met." 

"Colonel." Anders' voice was carefully neutral. "Are you sure you should be out of bed?" 

"I feel fine. Thanks for helping out, but I'll resume command now." Hogan ignored Anders' response in favor of greeting the guard stationed behind the Major's chair. "Hey, Kurtz – what are you doing here? I thought you were permanently stationed on the Red side of camp." 

"Ja, but…" 

"Where I station my guards is none of your concern, Colonel." Klink gestured at Kurtz. "Take Major Anders to his barracks." 

"My staff and I'll be moving back this afternoon, Anders." Hogan leaned back in his chair with a cool smile. "See if you can free up some bunks for my boys, ok?" 

Anders nodded curtly, exited without a word. 

Kurtz exchanged a quick smile with Schultz on his way out. 

"It's good to have you back, Colonel." Schultz patted Hogan's shoulder. "Everyone missed you." 

"Schultz!" Klink sighed. "Dismissed. Wait in the outer office." 

"Auf Wiedersehn!" Hogan cheerfully waved at the departing guard. 

Klink shook his head, but let the unmilitary behavior go. Given the choice, he'd have a disciplined senior POW who followed his orders without question. Until that man came along, he preferred tolerating a harmless pest over caging a dangerous wolf. "Are you sure you're well enough to be out of bed, Colonel? You needn't move back into the barracks if you're still ill." 

"I'm fine. I'm looking forward to getting back into my old room." Hogan shrugged off Klink's skeptical look. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." 

"Of course." Klink studied the American. He was still as pale as he'd been when Schultz had brought him back to camp and his thin bravado couldn't hide the fact that he was unsteady on his feet and that his hands shook slightly. After all he'd been through, his appearance in the office was close to remarkable. But only a fool would believe that he was well. 

"I'll need to inspect your wounds for signs of infection." 

Hogan shook his head. "Kinch…" 

"Sgt Kinchloe will not have to answer to the Allies if you die from lack of medical treatment." Klink forestalled Hogan's argument. "Don't make me call a guard, Colonel." 

Hogan reluctantly stood and tugged off his coat and shirt. 

The slowly healing wounds were difficult enough to look at, but Hogan's distant expression and the flinching that accompanied the slightest physical contact was even more unsettling. Klink finished his task as quickly as possible. "Alright. You can get dressed." 

"Told you I was ok." Hogan mumbled as he hastily dressed. 

"What happened to the cast on your wrist?" 

"I had Kinch cut it off." Hogan managed a weak grin. "Newkirk found a hacksaw lying around in the Rec Hall. One of your guards must have left it there." 

"Careless of them. I assume you'll return it immediately." 

"Of course. Just as soon as we finish cutting through the wire." 

"Very humorous." Klink resumed his seat behind the desk. "Are you feeling well enough to assume your duties as senior POW?" 

"Yeah. So you can get rid of Anders." Hogan toyed with Klink's letter opener. "He's bringing down the property values around here." 

"If that means he's difficult to live with, I agree." Klink interrupted Hogan's cheerful rebuttal. "But this is a bad time to transfer prisoners. There is a war going on, you know." 

"There's a retreat going on." Hogan snuck a look at a stack of papers before Klink yanked them away. "I was out there, you know." 

"Ja. I'm sorry. I was trying to protect you from Hochstetter. It wasn't my intention…" 

"I know. Leave it to you to nearly get me killed trying to save my life." Hogan grew serious. "Did you have any trouble with Wolfgang?" 

"Fortunately, the Russian commandos captured or killed him before he could cause trouble for me or your men." 

"That is good news, isn't it?" Hogan jiggled the new padlock on the cigar box. "Look at this – go away for a couple weeks and the management changes the locks." 

"We've become a military installation again, Hogan." Klink unlocked the box and offered the American a cigar. "I run a tight ship now. I'll have order or there will be strict disciplinary measures." 

"Don't worry. I'll get the camp back in shape. If…" 

"If what?" 

"If you tell your men to ease up some. This place is getting to be like a prison." 

"Just as soon as you get Major Anders under control." 

"Done." Hogan slouched back in his chair. "Ah, it's good to be back home." 

"Home." Klink scoffed. "You're obviously still feverish." 

"Nah. In fact I'll prove it by beating you at a game of chess." 

"You can't beat me when you're feeling well." Klink frowned at the papers piling up on the desk. "You may be able to laze around all day, but I have work to do." 

"Aw, come on." Hogan leaned across the desk. "One game." 

Klink sighed. Hogan had barely been out of bed an hour and he was already losing control of his camp. "One game. Then you're back to your barracks." 

"Deal." Hogan casually strolled to the schnapps bottle and poured two glasses while Klink set up the chess game on the desk. 

Klink had to admit – if only to himself – that he'd missed their games. Hogan was a horrible strategist, but he was an amiable opponent. Today's match, however, was different from the opening move. The brash American had grown cautious. And quiet. Klink found both behaviors disturbing. "Hogan." 

"Hmm?" 

"You shouldn't expect to be fully recovered right away." Klink captured Hogan's knight. "A visit from the Gestapo is not easily dismissed." 

Hogan feigned a carefree shrug, but the trembling hand that knocked over a row of pieces told a different story. 

Klink ignored the uncharacteristic clumsiness. "In Germany today, there are two kinds of people – those who bend to the Gestapo and those who disappear in the night. I hope you'll remember that if you ever have cause to meet Major Mueller." 

"Is that a threat?" 

"It's a warning." Klink met Hogan's eyes. "We Germans have had a decade to learn to be silent before Hochstetter's kind. It's a bitter lesson, but one you must master if you wish to see Ohio again." 

Hogan paused to drain his glass of schnapps. "Why don't you fight them? They can't kill all of you."

"No, but they can kill a considerable number of us." Klink glanced away from his pale opponent. "And as you are aware, the Gestapo do not limit themselves to inflicting pain. Death one can accept, but fear and humiliation are more difficult to bear." 

Hogan faked a laugh. "I don't know what Wolfie told you, but all he did was rough me up a bit. I've had worse from jealous husbands." 

"Of course." Klink returned to the game. He had no desire to make the American relive his interrogation. He'd had friends --- years ago, when Hitler had just taken power – who'd dared to object to the regime's policies. He remembered the fear and the shame in their eyes when they'd returned from Gestapo headquarters. He'd learned quickly to have no opinion that disagreed with that of his superiors. 

How long had it been since he'd dared to speak his mind? Klink pondered the question as he defended against a threat to his queen. He'd once been a genuine Luftwaffe officer – not just the keeper of a jail for enlisted prisoners. He'd never been as arrogant as Hogan – he had to laugh at the very thought – but he had been a proud man once. If anyone had told him when he was a cocky young pilot that he'd end his career struggling to maintain command of a pathetic stalag far from the front, he would have laughed in his face. But now….

Klink shook away the circling depression. He was safe here, far from the snows of Stalingrad and the intrigues of Berlin. Even a half-life was to be appreciated in these uncertain times. He frowned as he noted signs of battle fatigue in Hogan's subdued demeanor. He'd often fantasized of bringing the American down a peg, but he'd never wished to see him broken. Especially not by the likes of Hochstetter.

"Herr Kommandant." Schultz' noisy entry interrupted Klink's thoughts. "Cpl Newkirk says he has to see Colonel Hogan. He says it's urgent." 

"Tell him we're busy." Klink frowned. Hogan was already on his feet. 

"Sorry, Kommandant. Duty calls." Hogan quickly moved his castle. "Save the game, huh?" 

"Of course, Colonel." Klink grumbled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "We can continue whenever it's convenient for you." 

"Great." Hogan grinned, executed a casual salute and slipped from the office. 

Schultz chuckled until he noticed Klink glaring at him. "Oh, he is very bad. Very disrespectful." 

"Never mind." Klink gestured at the board. "Put this out of the way. I have work to do." 

"Jawohl." Schultz carefully transferred the game from the desk to an out-of –the-way chair. "Who is winning, Herr Kommandant?" 

"I am, of course."

"Oh, that's very good." 

"Ja." Klink scribbled his name on several reports. He paused as he heard the guard heading for the door. "Schultz." 

"Jawohl?" 

"He's lost weight. See that he gains it back. I don't need any trouble with the Red Cross." Klink ignored Schultz' rambling reply as he concentrated on a file. He swore as his phone rang.

"Klink, here. Heil Hitler…" He sat a little straighter as he recognized his caller's voice. "General Burkhalter, how good to ….Hogan? Yes, he's feeling better. In fact, he was just in here bothering me….How's he acting? Like always. Irritating, annoying, insubordinate….No, sir. No belligerence. At least, not towards me. He doesn't seem to like Major Anders, his replacement. In fact, I think it's only a matter of time until those two have some kind of confrontation. You know Americans, they…. Yes, sir. I'll see to it right away…..Yes, sir. I'll be sure he knows you approved the transfer….. It's always a pleasure talking to you, General. I…" 

Klink listened to the dial tone a moment before dropping the phone onto its receiver. Based on Burkhalter's concern for Hogan's health, he decided that the war effort was going badly. He found it grimly amusing to watch the pompous General's desperate attempts to curry favor with an enemy officer, especially one who had such little respect for protocol. He had no doubt that Hogan would find a way to manipulate the situation to his advantage. He always did. 

* * * * 


	14. The End!

Newkirk prowled outside the Kommandant's office until Hogan appeared on the porch. He wasted no time with formalities. "Begging your pardon, Colonel, but I didn't know how long you'd be with the Bald Eagle." 

"That's alright." Hogan followed him to a secluded area. "What's up?" 

"Rumor has it that the Major and his crew are intending to make a break for it in the dog truck."

"Do you trust your source?" 

Newkirk nodded. "It's Jackson. The one who started the riot when we were out tending to our mutual friend." 

"Ok." Hogan consulted his watch. "We shouldn't have any trouble stopping him." 

"Bloody blighter. Let me handle him, governor." Newkirk flashed a dark smile. "Being as you're still under the weather and all." 

"Thanks, but I've been looking forward to this." Hogan grinned. "In fact, I think this is something the whole camp deserves to see. Spread the word – I want everyone who Anders has insulted to be in front of Barracks Two in ten minutes." 

"That'll be pretty much the whole camp." 

"The more the merrier." 

"Right." Newkirk scanned the area for one of his mates. He spotted Carter whittling on a nearby bench, most likely trying to figure out what they were talking about. "Andrew!" 

"Huh?" Carter lost no time joining him. "What's up? What were you guys whispering about?" 

"The governor's bringing down the Major. Go tell Louie and Kinch to bring everyone from their building to Barracks Two." 

"Ok, boy. You got it." 

Newkirk hurried across the compound to the Russian enclave. 

Sasha met him outside his barracks. "Zdrastvuitye, Comrade Newkirk. What brings you running to Moscow-on-the-Rhine? I see no tanks at the gate." 

"The Colonel's sorting out Anders. He thought you might want to be there." 

"Sorting out?"

"Having it out with him. Showing him who's in charge around here." 

"Ah." Sasha translated for his comrades. "This we would like to see." 

"Good. Come on, then." Newkirk couldn't help feeling a bit uneasy crossing the compound with a pack of Russians behind him. The Soviet prisoners generally kept to their side of camp, except for Sasha's visits to Barracks Two. He hoped that the sudden Red exodus didn't get the tower guards too nervous. "How's your secret project going? Getting anywhere near the treeline?"

"Stalingrad was not built in a day." 

"I'll take that as a 'nyet.'"

"How is Comrade Colonel? He is enjoying living like a Czar in special quarters?" 

"He's moving back into Barracks Two just as soon as he takes care of Anders." Newkirk tried to hide his irritation. "He's been pretty sick." 

"Da. We have heard." Sasha dropped his cynicism. "He will have his revenge soon. When the camp falls, he can hang a guard from every tree." 

"Ah, yeah." Newkirk forced all emotion from his voice. Hogan had long warned them that they'd have to protect the Luftwaffe from the Russians when the tanks rolled through the gate. Personally, he didn't fancy taking on the likes of Sasha to defend the likes of Klink, but he'd already promised the governor he'd be responsible for the Germans' safety at the end. How Hogan got him to agree to these things was beyond him. 

"Now that he is well, perhaps there is Vodka?" Sasha forced a cough. "For medicinal purposes." 

"We told him he owed you a bottle. I'm sure he'll be asking his friend for some, just as soon as he gets settled back into his old room."

"Ah. The kindly friend who sends him supplies as manna from above." 

"Right. That friend." Newkirk steered away from the forbidden topic. Hogan had told Sasha just enough about the operation to convince him to keep the Russian prisoners under control, but not enough to jeopardize the lives of the Underground if Stalin and Hitler renewed their friendship. Of course, Sasha had learned a wee bit more during Hogan's absence --- something that the Colonel would no doubt rail about once he was fully recovered. 

"Hey, Jackson!" Newkirk cheerfully abandoned Sasha in favor of the amiable Texan. " Hogan wants to see you." 

"Me?" Jackson tugged his cap from his pocket and slapped it on his head. "Calling in the big guns to get some battle tips, huh?" 

"He wants you to be his guest at a public execution." Newkirk grinned. "I think you'll enjoy it. I know I'm looking forward to it." 

"Huh?" Jackson chuckled as he deciphered the invitation. "He's taking down Anders." 

"Like the rabid dog he is." Newkirk whistled at a group of RAF men leaning against their barracks. "Grand show in front of Barracks Two." 

LeBeau trotted up to join them as they approached their old home, followed by a dozen French airmen. 

Newkirk's gaze was drawn towards the center of the compound. Hogan stood with Kinch, surrounded by a semi-circle of Negro prisoners. He knew Kinch well enough to know that each man there had orders to protect the Colonel if Anders and his men didn't go quietly into obscurity. 

"This is just like the OK Corral." Carter bounded up to Newkirk and LeBeau, nodded a welcome to Sasha and Jackson.

"What?" Newkirk, LeBeau and Sasha spoke in unison.

"It's a shoot out." Jackson and Carter pantomimed a gun battle. "Take ten paces and fire at will." 

"Ah, oui." LeBeau nodded. "The cowboys and Indians." 

"Hey!" Carter feigned indignation. 

"No." Newkirk lectured LeBeau. "It's the cowboys and the outlaws." 

"More like the Hatfields and the McCoys." Jackson whistled. "Here comes the Black Hat." 

"What?" 

Carter pointed at Barracks Two. "Major Anders." 

Schultz had apparently been pressed into service to summon Anders. The Major followed the guard a few paces into the compound, then halted as he became aware of the gathering crowd.

"Here comes the White Hat." Jackson explained to the Europeans. "Hogan." 

Hogan was indeed heading for Anders. Strolling nonchalantly, though Newkirk knew the officer's body was most likely protesting every step.

"Uh oh." Jackson nudged Carter, pointed at the Kommandant's office. "The sheriff's in town." 

Newkirk followed the Americans' gestures, saw Klink standing on his porch. Schultz and Langenscheidt scurried to his side, but seemed to receive no orders. The guards in the towers leaned towards the compound, but appeared unconcerned with the gathering spectacle. 

"Major Anders." Hogan spoke loudly as he intercepted his subordinate. "I understand you have a problem with some of our Allied friends." 

"Sir?" Anders scanned the pressing crowd. "I respectfully request that we discuss this in your office. I assure you I can explain…" 

"You can explain what?" Hogan was clearly acting for the spectators. "That you're a disgrace to the Allies, to the Air Corps and to the entire U.S.? That the Krauts show these men more respect than you do? That you're an embarrassment to officers everywhere? Just what exactly do you want to explain, Anders?" 

"Colonel, I…" Anders glared at the snickering audience. "If this is because I disciplined your aide, I can explain. Your so-called staff is insubordinate. They seem to have forgotten that they're enlisted, not officers." 

"I'll put my enlisted men against your arrogant, no-nothing officers any day." Hogan paused for a burst of cheers. "Regardless of what you may think of the men in your command, Major, your duty is to protect them from the Krauts – not to drive them into escaping. Is that understood?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"What was that, Major?" Hogan turned to the prisoners. "I don't think they could hear you." 

"Sir! Yes, sir!" 

"Now repeat after me, Major. The French are our Allies. The British are our Allies. The Russians are our Allies. The Canadians are our Allies. The Australians are our Allies…." 

Newkirk chuckled as Anders was compelled to go through the entire list of Allied nations, followed by declarations that Negros, Jews and Communists were all fighting with Us against Them. Then the man had to repeat the entire list three more times. Newkirk almost felt sorry for Anders. Almost. 

Hogan finally dismissed Anders, who stormed into Barracks Two. The Colonel circulated among the prisoners, accepting their thanks and their well wishes. Newkirk shadowed the man, as did LeBeau, Carter and Kinch. Each of them was prepared to assist Hogan – as subtly as possible – should his body prove less resilient than his spirit.

"Colonel Hogan." Schultz weaved his way through the crowd. "Kommandant Klink wishes to see you." 

"Ok. Be right there." 

Newkirk tried to follow his commander, but was stopped by Schultz. He stood in the snow with his friends, his eyes on Klink and Hogan and their muted conversation. Whatever the topic, Hogan was grinning like he'd just sabotaged a fuel depot. "Guess he doesn't need our help." 

LeBeau nodded. "Perhaps Klink is surrendering." 

"Or maybe he's going to give us ice cream for dinner." Carter shrugged. "Well, it could happen." 

"Kinch!" Hogan gathered his team together as soon as Klink dismissed him. "How long will it take you to desegregate those buildings and get moved back home?"

"Ten minutes?" 

"Make it five." Hogan chuckled as Schultz emerged from Barracks Two with Anders and herded him towards the cooler. "LeBeau, take the Major some food and blankets. He's going to be staying in alternate quarters tonight and moving to a new camp tomorrow. Then get back to our barracks and chase those yahoos out." 

"Oui, mon Colonel." LeBeau laughed and pointed at their building. Anders' men were quickly disappearing. "Looks like the rats are already abandoning ship." 

"What about me?" Carter circled Hogan eagerly. "Do I get to move back too?" 

"Of course, Carter. Go get your stuff and then make an inventory of the tunnel. If those cretins have ruined anything, I'll have them digging latrines for the rest of the war." 

Carter saluted cheerfully and dashed across the compound. 

"Newkirk."

"Saving the best for last?" 

"I need you for a special mission." Hogan frowned. "Anders has to escape during his transfer and head back to London. I want you to arrange it, without the others hearing about it." 

"What? Begging the Colonel's pardon, but are you bloody insane?" Newkirk stared incredulously at Hogan. "It's the blow you took to the head. Why don't you come back to your room and have a lie down? We'll…." 

"Newkirk." Hogan draped his arm around the Briton, steered him away from the crowd. "Anders knows all about our operation and he's mad as hell. I don't need to sit up nights wondering who he's telling what. He goes back to London." 

"Back home? While we sit here in this filthy camp eating garbage? While we creep around bowing and scraping for the Bald Eagle? He treats everyone like dirt and he gets to go back home?!" 

"Yes. He goes home and we stay here." 

"But, Colonel…" Newkirk pushed away from Hogan. "Why don't you send Kinch on your errand?" 

"Do you really want me to do that to him? After the way Anders treated him?" 

"No, but…Why me?" 

"You're my pessimist." Hogan shrugged. "Who else would I send? " 

"Alright, I see your point. But I don't have to like it." 

"Thanks. I owe you one." 

"That's for sure." Newkirk grumbled. "I don't suppose I could kill the blighter, could I? He'd be hard put to give away our secrets with a bullet between his eyes." 

"How many times do I have to tell you? We're the good guys and …" 

"…they're the bad guys." Newkirk sighed. "How about if I just maim him a bit?" 

Hogan shook his head. 

"A sharp rap on the side of the head?"

"Sorry, mate." 

"Alright. If you're sure that's what you want." Newkirk muttered to himself as he started for the RAF barracks to gather his things. There was no justice in the world, that was for sure. But he'd already known that. Had since he was a kid. 

"Hey, Newkirk." A young RAF gunner distracted him from his grievance. "Where's he off to?" 

"Huh? Ah, blimey." Newkirk hurried towards the gate. "Colonel!" 

Hogan paced by the fence, his movements of great interest to the guards in the towers above him.   
"Colonel!" Newkirk approached the officer, being careful not to make any sudden movements that could startle the guards into firing. "Something wrong?" 

Hogan seemed surprised to find the Briton beside him. "Newkirk? Something wrong?" 

"That's what I asked you, sir." Newkirk did his best to subtly steer the man back towards the barracks. "You're making our friends up there nervous." 

Hogan glanced upwards, seemed to be just realizing where he was. "Oh, sorry. Guess I was thinking about something else." 

"No problem." Newkirk herded the officer far enough away to calm the guards. "Let's get you back to your room. Give us five minutes and you'll never know Anders was in there."

"I'm ok." Hogan pulled away. "I should radio London and make contact with the Underground. I need to find out what this new Gestapo man is like and…" 

"We'll do all that." Newkirk laughed softly. "One thing at a time, governor. Let's get you well again, then we'll concentrate on the operation." 

"I'm fine now. You guys can stop worrying about me." 

"Right, sir. Whatever you say." Newkirk declined to comment on Hogan's appearance. He'd seen road kill in better condition. And he was only too aware that most of the Colonel's injuries were invisible. "Sir. There's something I've been meaning to tell you." 

"Hmm?" 

"It's about ….when old Wolfgang…" Newkirk took a breath, rushed on. "I was in the tunnel when you were interrogated, Colonel. I know what the bugger did to you." 

"You know…? " Hogan averted his eyes. 

"I know that you're twice the man I am. The last thing that'd be on my mind after that is the operation." 

"Newkirk…" Hogan's voice was almost inaudible. " Did I talk? I can't remember…" 

"You?" Newkirk laughed "Just name, rank and serial number. And the occasional curse thrown Wolfgang's way." 

"I wasn't sure. I …" 

"Don't give it another thought, sir. No Gestapo bastard can break you." 

"I wish I could believe that." Hogan stared blankly. "I'm not sure I still have what it takes to lead a mission." 

"Look, governor…" Newkirk cleared his throat. "You know I'm not one for getting sentimental, but you're our leader. We can't make it without you. Why, the minute you were gone, Kinch and me started squabbling, LeBeau went sullen and Carter….." Newkirk chuckled. "Poor Carter moped around the place like a wounded puppy. It was a disgusting sight. I had a mind to shoot him just to put him out of his misery." 

Hogan smiled weakly. 

"Now the way I figure it, even if you're only half what you were, you're still twice the man Anders is. That's good enough for us." Newkirk smiled magnanimously. "And if you need help now and again, I'll be here to bail you out." 

Hogan laughed. "Now I'm really worried." 

Newkirk nudged the man towards their barracks. "Time to be getting home, sir." 

"Thanks, Peter." Hogan patted Newkirk's shoulder and briefly met his eyes. With a quick smile, Hogan was once again an arrogant officer and on his way to their home. 

Newkirk shook his head as he followed the American. Life on the streets of London had left him few illusions about the dignity of humanity. Every man had his breaking point and he didn't doubt that Hochstetter had brought Hogan close to his. But he'd also learned over the years that there were those who bowed before Fate and those who dared to command their own destinies. There was no doubt in his mind which category Hogan fell into. 

"Kinch." Hogan headed for his room, ignoring the chaos created by men moving in and out of the barracks. "I'm going to bed for a month. Maybe more. Shoot anyone who comes near my door. Axis, Allied – I don't care. Shoot to kill." 

"Right, sir."

Newkirk flopped onto his bunk and silently monitored the hectic activity in the room. LeBeau was fussing over Hogan, Kinch was barking orders, Carter was getting under foot... All was normal. 

Newkirk laid back on his lumpy, filthy mattress and whistled happily. He was back in the only place that had ever felt like home, surrounded by the only people who'd ever felt like family. It would never last, but for the moment it was enough. 

* * * * 


End file.
